The Gang's All Here
by shatteredmusic
Summary: Our intrepid heroes must find out who killed a young petty officer-and if it's related to a case investigated by an old member of Team Gibbs. Warning: people get hurt. Rated T to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I don't own NCIS or anything about it, please don't sue me. What I do own are the characters not in the normal ensemble cast (Hannah, Sizer, Chen, etc.). Please read and review, if you like, and I hope you enjoy the story!

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><p>Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo had the feeling this was going to be one of those days: he'd woken up late, next to a woman he was starting to regret, spilled an entire cup of coffee on his favorite suit, and, as a result of needing to change, would be late to work. Not just a little late, either. The kind of late that Gibbs noticed. Granted, he was generally tardy to the party, but his boss had learned over the years that as long as he gave him about five minutes after normal start time, he wouldn't have to rag on DiNozzo so much about it. Nevertheless, this was going to be at least twenty minutes, and Tony had no real explanation as to why. Yes, the coffee, but that was no real excuse at all and he knew it. So, not shaping up to be a stellar day.<p>

Luck smiled on Tony, however, once he arrived at his desk. Gibbs was nowhere to be found, and Ziva and McGee were talking quietly about something on McGee's computer. They looked up as their colleague arrived, and both smiled rather wickedly.

"Late night, Tony?" Ziva asked coyly.

"None of your business, Zee-vah," he replied.

"Ooh, not very friendly." Ziva sauntered over to Tony. "Was she worth it?" she asked sultrily, eyeing Tony up and down. Before Tony had a chance to answer, Gibbs strode into the bullpen.

"Well, she's not dead, so she had a better night than Petty Officer Wells." he said. "Grab your gear, we're going to Rock Creek Park." Tony smirked at Ziva, then grabbed his pack and followed Agent Gibbs to the elevator, while Ziva simply smiled. McGee, at this point, just let it roll, because sometimes it was just as much fun to watch as to participate.

Once the agents arrived at the crime scene, Gibbs barked orders for each of them and started questioning the park ranger that found the body. According to the ranger, the unfortunate petty officer had been stabbed, then left to die. Tony took photographs, as usual, and was getting along at a pretty good clip until Ziva found her way over again.

"I'm working," he said haughtily.

"As am I," she replied, looking over her shoulder at him as she sketched. "McGee!" she called, bending down to look at something on the ground. Tony joined her, as well, and Ziva held up a crushed soda can.

"It's a soda can," Tony remarked.

"Yes. It could have belonged to the petty officer," Ziva said. McGee bagged and tagged the item, while Tony protested, "Or it could be trash."

"We'll know more once we get it back to Abby," Gibbs interrupted. "Park ranger says he found Petty Officer Wells about an hour ago on his round through the park. Says he wasn't there the first time he went through."

Ducky Mallard, the resident NCIS medical examiner, arrived on the scene and immediately went to the body. Jimmy Palmer, resident autopsy gremlin, followed him, carrying some of the equipment necessary for a preliminary examination.

"What've ya got, Duck?" Gibbs asked immediately.

"Jethro, I've only just arrived! At least give me some time to use the liver probe," Ducky said, pulling the small instrument out of his bag. He turned his attention toward the body and the stab wound, eyeing it with some curiosity as he took the liver temperature. "Judging by the body temperature and the fact that it was unseasonably warm last night, I'd say the body hasn't been here for much longer than fifteen hours," Ducky said once the probe was complete. "But his cause of death wasn't this stab wound, which appears to have been inflicted post-mortem. Note the presence of petechial hemorrhaging around the eyes, as well as the bruises surrounding the neck. I'd hazard an early cause of death at asphyxia, but we won't know more until we get him home." Gibbs nodded and went to conference with the rest of his team.

"This is one of the cleanest crime scenes I have ever witnessed," Ziva said. "No fingerprints, no murder weapon, and the only possible evidence we found is this crushed soda can."

"Not even a footprint," added Tony. He looked at McGee, expecting him to concur with the lack of evidence.

"I might have something," McGee said, frowning at something on the ground. Gibbs walked over to him, waiting for the explanation. "Don't you think it's a little weird that we haven't found anything? The body was obviously moved here but there isn't any indication that it was dragged along the ground, there're no fingerprints, tire prints or footprints, like Tony said, there's no anything."

"So, the killer cleaned up after himself," Ziva concluded.

"There aren't even any broken twigs," McGee pointed out. "The body's hardly decomposed, there are no bugs, no animals. Nothing to indicate another living being was ever here."

"Or, the killer didn't leave a trace," Gibbs said, on the same wavelength as McGee. "We're dealing with someone highly trained in ghosting." He sighed. "If you're done here, let's go." The three agents packed up as quickly as they could while Ducky and Palmer took charge of the body.

So, Tony mused, they had a dead body with no indication of how it got there, who did it, or why. His long day was quickly turning into a long night.

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><p>Tim McGee was vaguely aware that his phone was ringing. Very vaguely. Somewhere in the depths of his mind, he registered the annoying electronic beeping, enough to pull him out of a deep, comfy sleep. By the time he actually connected sound with brain, the phone had been ringing for a solid minute.<p>

"'Lo?" he asked as he picked up.

"Tim, it's Tony."

"Tony? It's…" he glanced at his alarm clock, "3 a.m. You've gotta stop calling me this late, man. We've got work later."

"Ziva's in the hospital." This woke McGee up like a slap in the face.

"What? What happened?"

"There was some kind of explosion at her apartment. While she was in it. The doctors don't think she's hurt too badly, but she's in a coma."

"Where are you?"

"Bethesda."

"I'm coming." McGee hung up the phone without bothering to say goodbye. He threw on some jeans he thought might be clean and a wrinkled t-shirt. He didn't even bother to reign in his blatant speeding to get to the hospital faster. All that mattered was that his friend was hurt, and hurt badly. He didn't care what the doctors said: he remembered the coma Gibbs was in only all too well; to him, a coma meant badly hurt.

It took McGee a little while to locate Ziva's floor, as no one seemed to want to tell him where she was. They either didn't believe that he was a federal agent coming to see his colleague, or were just plain hiding the information—though now that he thought about it, it was probably because they didn't believe he was a federal agent. After all, what NCIS agent shows up at the hospital in jeans from the bedroom floor and a superbly wrinkled t-shirt?

When McGee walked into the tenth floor waiting room, the first thing he saw was Tony, sitting in a chair, bent in half with his head in his hands. This did not bode well. He slowed his pace and tried to stop his heart from pumping right out of his chest.

"How is she?" he asked softly.

"They're still in with her," Tony replied without moving. "They don't know that much yet. She doesn't appear to have much in the way of internal injuries, but she has some bad burns they're keeping an eye on."

"Where's Gibbs?"

"With the director." McGee made an impatient noise at this and Tony said, still without looking up, "There's nothing you can do, Tim. Have a seat." Which he promptly did, though he didn't like it one bit.

An hour passed. Then two. Tony, in the meantime, had gotten up, gotten coffee, come back, and stretched out on the only couch in the room, seemingly asleep. McGee wondered how he could possibly turn his mind off at a time like this. To keep from going crazy, he pulled out his iPhone and played as many games as he could keep his mind on. Finally, a side door opened and Gibbs strode out with the director, neither looking very happy, both looking extremely tired.

"Any news?" Tony asked as Gibbs sat down near him, still under the appearance of sleep.

"I haven't been in with the doctors, DiNozzo."

"Then what the h—" Tony stopped himself as he remembered the director's presence. "What's going on?" he asked as he sat up.

"We've been on the phone with Eli David," the director said simply. "Thought he ought to know his daughter's in the hospital." Tony did not agree with this decision and a quick glance at Gibbs and McGee let him know they didn't, either. "I'll expect a full report tomorrow," the director continued. "And Gibbs, I don't want you or a single one of your agents anywhere near that crime scene," he warned. Gibbs nodded as the director walked toward the elevators.

"Boss, why doesn't the director want us at the crime scene?" McGee asked suspiciously.

"Because, McGee, he thinks we'll find something," Gibbs replied cryptically.


	2. Chapter 2

"What've ya got?" Gibbs asked later that morning as he strode through the bullpen with his coffee. Tony and McGee approached the plasma, eager to share their knowledge.

"Petty Officer Nicholas Wells," McGee started, bringing up the information on the screen, "is an American citizen born to Lebanese immigrant parents. They changed their name when they arrived here twenty-five years ago, supposedly so they would fit in better with their new neighbors. Been with the Navy five years, all five of them pretty standard. He gets good fitness reports, seems to get along with fellow officers, and, according to his CO, does just enough not to get noticed much."

"But," Tony interrupted, "his CO did mention one fight with a fellow Petty Officer, Jack Griffin, about a month ago. He wasn't sure what started the fight, only that the two petty officers had been pretty hostile ever since."

"I ran Wells' financials," came McGee, "and nothing seems much out of the ordinary, except for large deposits that started about two years ago. Every month, the petty officer would receive ten thousand dollars like clockwork. I couldn't find anything that explains it, but we may know more once Abby lets me at his computer's hard drive." Tony and McGee had gone over to the petty officer's apartment after they left Bethesda and had been working on the evidence ever since.

"I want Petty Officer Griffin in here," Gibbs said.

"Already on his way up, Boss," Tony finished quickly. As if on cue, the elevator dinged and out stepped the petty officer, escorted by NCIS security. Gibbs fell in line with the pair as they went down to the interrogation rooms. McGee and Tony abandoned their work to watch the spectacle.

"Going somewhere, Agent Gibbs?" asked the director as he caught up with the small party.

"Just doing my job, Director," Gibbs replied, not stopping. The director held up a hand to stop everyone. "Agent Sykes, please continue to escort Petty Officer Griffin downstairs." He turned to Gibbs. "Didn't think you'd disobey a direct order, Gibbs."

"I didn't."

"You were going to interrogate my suspect, specifically when I told you to stay away from this case."

"You told me to stay away from Ziva's crime scene, not the Wells case, sir." The director's jaw tightened.

"Then please be advised that you and your team are no longer working the Wells case. Clear?" Gibbs stared at Director Vance for a moment, then gave a short nod.

"Absolutely." He turned around to go back to the bullpen, nearly bowling over DiNozzo and McGee in the process.

"Director says we can't touch it," Gibbs informed them. The other two agents didn't say anything until they reached the semi-privacy of their little rectangle of desks.

"Boss, what's going on? Ziva's in the hospital and we don't know why, the director won't let us investigate, and for reasons unknown, we can't work our case, either," McGee complained.

"They're related, McGee," was Gibbs' laconic response.

"How did anyone come to that conclusion?" Tony asked.

"Obviously, the director knows something we don't."

"It's not what he doesn't want you to know so much as what he doesn't want you to do, which is mess with his investigation," came a voice. The three agents spun around to face a woman looking expectantly at them.

"Hannah!" cried Tony.

"DiNozzo," she responded coolly. The woman in question was Special Agent Hannah Gray, former member of Gibbs' team, now transferred to the NCIS New York field office.

"Got something to share, Gray?" Gibbs asked, though he was smiling.

"Vance is running a mission right now and he suspects that Petty Officer Wells is involved," Hannah explained. "It may or may not have to do with Agent David."

"What doesn't the director want us to know?" Gibbs inquired, cutting to the chase as usual.

"I'm not sure, exactly. I don't have all of the information, either."

"But you do have…some information."

"Some." Gibbs was trying to stare Hannah down, but was interrupted by Abby.

"McGee, Petty Officer Wells' hard drive is ready," she said, blowing past him. "Hannah!" she exclaimed, enveloping the other agent in a huge Abby-hug.

"Hi, Abs!"

"It's so good to see you!" Hannah would have responded but it appeared the forensic scientist was cutting off her air supply. Hannah tapped Abby on the shoulder so that she could breathe again. "Oh, sorry!"

"Thanks, Abs."

"You were saying, Agent Gray?" Gibbs forced his way back into the conversation, still trying to get information from Hannah.

"I don't believe I was, Boss. Look, I know Vance is interrogating Petty Officer Griffin right now. I also know that when he's done, he's going to come back up here and want to talk to me. I'm supposed to be waiting for him outside his office. If he thinks for even a nanosecond that I stopped here on my way up, he will not let it rest until he drags out of me the fact that I gave you information. Because of this, it would not surprise me in the slightest if he pulled me off the investigation. I'm not wasting almost two years' worth of work because you want answers, Gibbs."

"Wow, New York changed you more than I thought," Gibbs responded.

"I'm not that different, Boss. Just a little more careful." Hannah shot her former boss a warning look, and Gibbs knew to expect her in his basement later. "I've gotta go," she apologized to the group. "Vance is expecting me, and the longer it takes me to get upstairs, the more he'll suspect I've been here. It was great seeing all of you again." Hannah took off for the stairs and disappeared behind the director's office suite door.

"That's it?" Tony asked Gibbs quietly after Hannah left. "We're done? No more investigation?" Gibbs didn't like it, either, but he knew he would be getting the information he sought later, and better that his agents didn't know that just yet.

"My hands are tied, DiNozzo." The Boss? With tied hands? No, something was definitely up.

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><p>"So," Agent Gray said as she descended the stairs into Gibbs' basement. "How many have I missed since I left?" She nodded to the current boat project.<p>

"Three." She laughed.

"Wow, Boss, that must set a world-record for boat-building." Gibbs smiled but said nothing and continued sanding. "I'm not going to beat around the bush. We both know why I'm here. You want answers to your questions and I happen to have some of those answers."

"Always did get right into it, Gray," Gibbs admired, going to pour a drink. Hannah held up her hand to stop him from also pouring her one. Particularly a drink from a jar that had, seconds previously, held dirty nails or screws.

"I aim to please, Boss." Hannah paused. "Vance thinks there's a connection between your petty officer and Agent David."

"Yeah, I kinda figured that one myself."

"Relations between Lebanon and Israel have been rather…tense. Recently, a few well-publicized murders of some influential Lebanese bureaucrats have essentially been unexplained, and a lot of people seem to think that Mossad is involved. At the highest levels." Gibbs knew that Hannah referred to Eli David, director of Mossad and Ziva's father. "Some extremist Lebanese anti-Israeli groups have been suspected of violence toward the Israeli people already, and it's only a matter of time before the Israelis want retribution. In addition, Homeland has uncovered some chatter from a group in Lebanon asserting that they will have vengeance against an American federal agent formerly with the Mossad."

"Ziva."

"Director thinks so."

"Why?"

"They're claiming she killed Petty Officer Wells. And before you go asking questions about how they know, let me tell you that some details of the investigation have already been leaked. I don't know who's responsible." Hannah ran her hand over the smooth side of the boat, waiting for Gibbs to ask more questions.

"What do they know?"

"They know Petty Officer Wells has ties to Lebanon and they know he was murdered by an expert in surveillance, tracking and execution."

"Someone like Ziva."

"Yes."

"So they think they're going to get back at Eli David for having one of his own kill one of their own."

"We think that's the idea, yes."

"Problem is that Petty Officer Wells has no real ties to Lebanon except for his parents. He's never even been there."

"That's not entirely true. He hasn't been there for long periods of time, but from what I understand, the Wells family did return to Lebanon a few times. The rest of his extended family still resides in Lebanon. His uncle is the one who's been making threats. It's possible all he wants is quid pro quo, or it's possible that he won't rest until…I don't even know. Until he's satisfied."

"Either way, he's dangerous," Gibbs concluded.

"Yes."

"Did Director David order the hit on Wells?"

"Vance doesn't think so. And, if you look at it, it doesn't make sense. The initial murders of the Lebanese bureaucrats don't merit that kind of reaction. They were influential, but not terribly high-profile. What I do know is that for any of this to make sense requires the group to think that Agent David is still in favor with her father, which to my understanding, she is not."

"Uh, no."

"Then it's likely Mossad had no involvement at all. Why this particular anti-Israeli group has chosen Director David as their target is as yet unknown. It may simply be that he's very high-profile and they attribute a lot of other wrongdoings to their people to him."

"Mm. And this is what Vance thinks?"

"Yes."

"What do you think?"

"I'm inclined to agree with him."

"Inclined, but not ready?"

"It makes sense. It's a pretty small group to have chosen such a big target, but maybe they're just looking to make a name for themselves."

"Do they even have the resources to pull something like that off?"

"Ever since Petty Officer Wells' death, they do. Money's been pouring in. We're not sure what story the uncle is telling to get it, only that some pretty influential Lebanese businessmen have been among the donors." Gibbs nodded but said nothing; he picked up the extra fine and went back to sanding.

"Any word on Agent David?" Hannah asked, trying to make conversation. Odd, considering Gibbs was her former boss and she'd never had the slightest bit of problem before.

"Stable but in a coma." In other words, nothing had changed. "Gibbs—" Hannah started, thinking perhaps clearing some bad blood might also clear the air.

"If you're about to explain to me—again—why you left, I don't need to hear it."

"All I'm saying is that I was meant for the Economic Crimes Unit. I have a CPA, for god's sake. It was either New York or the FBI."

"Yeah, and you're a damn good field agent, too." Hannah tried not to smile; Gibbs so rarely gave compliments that it was hard not to.

"Thanks, Boss." Hannah glanced at her watch. "I better go—Vance has a sitrep scheduled for eight-thirty." Gibbs nodded, but still managed a small smile.

"Oh, and Gray? Don't think I don't know that Leon's got you keeping an eye on me," he called after her.

"Wouldn't expect anything less, Boss," she responded with a grin.


	3. Chapter 3

Agent Gray sat at a table. She glanced around herself: no suspicious activity, nothing at all to make anyone think she wasn't just another patron of the local coffeehouse. She shifted her line of sight over to a small sedan twenty feet away, quadruple-checking that her parallel parking wouldn't draw attention. She also couldn't see the reason she'd even come to the establishment in the first place. The small café wasn't crowded and its few patrons appeared to be either the wrong age or gender. Mostly everyone sat inside, anyway, even on a beautiful morning like this—the wireless signal was strongest inside the building. Another quick look ascertained a couple of homeless men further along the edge of the building, but in the opposite direction of her car.

He was supposed to be there, Hannah was sure of it. She'd followed him too closely to consider otherwise. That he wasn't made Hannah uncomfortable, the kind of uncomfortable that usually precedes some sort of terrible, unforgettable event. Seconds after acknowledging her discomfort, she saw the bomb. He was there. Hannah jumped up, grabbing a small leather wallet off of her utility belt. Making a scene—like evacuating a coffee shop because of a bomb—would only let him know she was there, something she had desperately wanted to avoid, mostly because she was paranoid that he already knew she was investigating in the first place. Then again, her duty didn't allow for letting innocent people die in an explosion she may have been able to prevent.

She began flashing her badge at the patrons outside the café, alerting them to the fact that she was a federal agent and they needed to run to safety. As she was doing so, she popped a quick look at the timer, which counted down from five minutes. Five minutes to evacuate an increasingly crowded coffeehouse with a slightly panicking crowd would not be enough. She knew it and she knew that he knew it. He'd planned it that way. Ten seconds later, a booming fireball erupted from outside the café. Hannah instinctively leapt to the ground and covered her head and neck with her arms. She had managed to escape the brunt of the blast but flying debris from the near-collapse of the building left her bruised and bloodied. How many of the others were as lucky, she didn't know yet. The inside of the building was starting to go up in flames and Hannah quickly dialed 911. She had been outside, thankfully, helping escort a few others away from the coffee place. Fifteen minutes later, the fire department and several ambulances arrived. The firemen got the blaze under control fairly quickly and Hannah spotted a few EMTs assisting what appeared to be naval Petty Officers. She flipped open her phone, dialed a familiar number and relayed a message to the operator that answered.

A police officer walked over and began asking questions. She showed him her badge and said some of her colleagues would be there shortly. Hannah gave a quick statement and allowed an EMT to lead her to an ambulance to be checked over. She sat on the edge, letting her longish legs dangle. In five minutes, a large white utility truck with red and blue stripes pulled up and stopped with a well-known abruptness. Three special agents stepped out and quickly surveyed the scene. The police officer who took Hannah's statement spoke briefly with the oldest of the three, then went to talk to his fellow officers. Another truck pulled up, a twin to the first that had arrived. She watched as the men did their jobs, hoping they wouldn't notice her. The EMT checking her over seemed fussy about her injuries and she let him. Normally, she would have insisted she was fine and gone about her business, even if she'd been severely bleeding from the head. Now, Hannah had no desire to participate in the circus before her. Second thoughts piled up around her and she realized, far too late, that if the older agent so much as caught a glimpse of her…well, it wouldn't be good.

The police officer came back and spoke to another one of the agents, who was asking questions. His sunglasses glinted in the morning light, sunglasses that Hannah would have bet anything came from some high-end retailer. She saw the policeman nod in her direction and the agent's head turn with it. He took off his sunglasses, adopted a grim expression and quickly went to inform the older agent. He looked over at her and she stared back, willing her bruised and bloodied face not to betray any emotion as the coffeehouse smoked and crackled off to the side.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry about the long wait in posting-and for that extremely short chapter! Hopefully, this will make everyone happy again... :-)

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><p>Hannah sat on one of the autopsy tables at NCIS. Ducky was standing off to one side and fiddling with some kind of medical instrument. He walked over to her and kindly held her face so that he could peer into her eyes, a procedure Hannah knew to be rather routine. It gave her a small comfort, and it also told her that there was, very likely, nothing seriously wrong with her.<p>

"Well, my dear, you appear to have escaped serious injury," Ducky said. "Let me just get some alcohol swabs and we'll get you cleaned up."

"Thanks, Ducky."

"My pleasure, Hannah." She smiled at the doctor and medical examiner. So gracious, even in the worst of circumstances. The smile soon left her face, however, when she realized that the worst was yet to come. She still had to face Gibbs. His ire was not something she liked to provoke, not something anyone in their right mind would want to provoke—maybe she could claim she hadn't been in her right mind. Of course, that would jeopardize the credibility of her entire investigation and nearly two years' worth of work.

Ducky returned with the small swabs and began dabbing at the cuts on Hannah's arms. She winced slightly but held her own against the stinging of the alcohol. It felt like penance and she knew she deserved it. Ducky was making some apology because of the pain but Hannah wasn't really listening. That, and her hearing hadn't completely returned to normal yet. She did not, however, miss the whoosh of the autopsy doors opening. She didn't bother looking over. She knew who it was.

"What the hell were you thinking?" came the dulcet tones of one Leroy Jethro Gibbs. She had explained to him on the ride back that she had been in the middle of an investigation and that she was supposed to meet a contact at the coffee shop. Not that her explanation had done her a bit of good because it was clear from the word go that Gibbs was pissed at her. Really, really pissed. "You come down here, you don't let anyone know, you don't bring any backup and you nearly get blown up in an explosion."

"I told you, I'm working a case for the Director."

"That's funny, because the Director didn't seem to have any idea about this meeting. So you tell me how a senior agent in this organization makes every rookie mistake in the book and almost gets killed as a result." Hannah wasn't quite sure, but this might have been Gibbs as more than pissed. This might have been furious. The man had personal space boundary issues to begin with and he was standing much closer than pissed would have warranted. Granted, he wasn't up in her face, so he wasn't close to murder, but definitely hovering right around furious.

"I didn't know the bomb would be there. I thought I was meeting a contact."

"A contact you knew to be dangerous."

"Yes. That's why I brought my gun. I thought it might be a dead giveaway if I let the bomb squad tag along." Ok, now the face was getting close to murderous. Hannah figured she better stop while she was behind.

"Undercover, no backup…" Gibbs paced for five seconds.

"Jethro, I really must insist that I take care of Hannah's wounds. I promise I'll give her right back to you when I'm done," Ducky interjected. Gibbs turned to Hannah and put himself within two inches of her face.

"If I don't see you at my desk in ten minutes, you'll need Ducky to do more than clean your wounds, Agent Gray." With that, Gibbs strode out of Autopsy and presumably back to the squad room.

"Oh, my."

"I know, Ducky."

"Hannah!" Abby Sciuto bounded into Autopsy and tried to give Hannah a hug, though Ducky stopped her before Abby could further infect Hannah's injuries. "What happened? Tony said there was some kind of explosion and you were in it. Are you ok?" Hannah had a little trouble understanding everything out of Abby's mouth. Even if her hearing had been pristine, the speed at which that girl could talk put most auctioneers to shame.

"Yeah. You'll be getting loads of evidence soon, sorry. A Navy lieutenant was in the building and didn't make it out in time."

"And an NCIS agent."

"An NCIS agent who wasn't supposed to be there." Comprehension gelled on Abby's face.

"Gibbs is pissed."

"More like furious." The forensic specialist winced and made a face.

"So you made it out of the coffeehouse alive but maybe not the Navy Yard."

"That's what I'm thinking. But, actually, I've got to go, Gibbs said if I wasn't up there in ten minutes…"

"I'm not done yet, my dear," Ducky interrupted.

"Here. I'll take a few to go," Hannah said, grabbed a few packets of swabs, then dashed out of Autopsy.

As the elevator ascended, Hannah cleaned the rest of her wounds as best she could, as well as her face and hands. She didn't have time to make a trip to the restroom and her dirty appearance would only serve as a visual reminder of the morning.

"Reporting for duty," Hannah said when she reached the senior agent's desk.

"Talk," he commanded. Hannah nodded.

"I arrived at DC Beans at zero-eight-thirty, half an hour prior to when I was to meet my contact there. I wanted time to make sure there were no traps." Hannah ignored the look Gibbs shot her and plowed on, so that she was not interrupted by an expert interrogator. "At zero-nine-hundred, I sat down at an outside table to wait for my contact to arrive. By zero-nine-thirty, I knew something was wrong as I had not received word. My contact had always been extremely precise prior to this meeting and any deviation made me suspicious. Before I could communicate with my contact, I saw the bomb. I abandoned meeting plans and instead concentrated on ensuring the safety of the other restaurant patrons. I don't have enough training to try and defuse a bomb by myself and there was no time to wait for the bomb squad. According to the timer, I had five minutes remaining."

"Yeah. And your timer went off thirty seconds later."

"Obviously, the timer was wrong and whoever had placed the bomb at the coffee shop knew that going in."

"Did it ever occur to you in all of this, Agent Gray, that your contact set you up? There was never supposed to be a meeting, only an explosion?" Hannah could tell that Gibbs was just as angry as before, possibly getting angrier.

"Yes. I'm sure of it. It's possible my contact wants to get rid of me for reasons unknown or it's possible that my cover is blown."

"Yeah? Do you really think your contact just felt like blowing you and fifty other innocent people up?"

"No, of course not."

"Do you even know this contact is? And you better not tell me it's anonymous."

"Far from it, Boss. It's Sizer." Though he didn't say anything or betray any kind of surprise, Hannah could tell that was not the answer Gibbs had been expecting. And that he was very, very furious.

"And you're accusing him of…?"

"Treason. He's been selling secrets."

"Gray, you'd better have proof, because if you go into this without—"

"Right here, Boss." Hannah held up a small USB drive. "Hard copies are in a safe place."

"Better not be your desk in your home office."

"Come on, Gibbs. I learned from the best." Hannah could see DiNozzo peeking around the corner of the stairs and glanced over at the phone on his desk. The red speaker light was on, so he'd heard every single word she and Gibbs had said.

"You might as well invite your team back. They've been listening to the whole thing." She nodded in the direction of the phone and Gibbs understood immediately.

"DiNozzo!" Gibbs commanded in the scary sort of voice usually reserved for interrogations. The team instantly reappeared.

"Boss. Just, uh, checking phone reception, I think mine's on the fritz. Hi, Hannah."

"Tony."

"I don't think you've met Agent Tim McGee." McGee smiled and went to shake Hannah's hand but was interrupted with a dual head slap from Gibbs—one for McGee, one for DiNozzo.

"You better have a damn good reason why you're accusing your boss, a good agent and Marine, of treason to his country."

"Is there a USB port I can plug this into?" Hannah asked.

"Here, you can use my computer," McGee volunteered.

"Thank you," she said, handing him the small hard drive. "And while you're at it, can you put it up on the screen?" Seconds later, the information appeared on the large plasma so everyone could follow.

"About two years ago, my partner, Agent Corell, informed me that he had been approached by Director Sheppard about investigating Agent Sizer, and that she had asked that I be involved. There was some intel indicating that Sizer was about to sell some information regarding national security to a terror group located in Senegal."

"Al-Qaeda?" asked Tony.

"No, actually. Just a powerful militant group in Senegal looking to execute a coup. We think Sizer was testing the waters, seeing how far his NCIS and military connections could get him and what kind of market he was facing. It turned out that the group already knew the intel Sizer was providing and they thought he was trying to set them up. As a result, he very narrowly escaped the meeting with his life. He backed off for about three months and we were about to close the investigation, thinking it was over, when we learned that he had been contacted by a Chinese group looking to establish themselves in the arms business. Sizer had been a weapons expert with the Marines and with his knowledge and contacts, would have been the perfect go-to. Not only that, arms dealers have a way of hearing things even those in the intelligence business don't always catch, mostly because the relationship between those two groups is tenuous at best. So Sizer sets up what is essentially a sham company, Security Solutions, LLC. According to their website, they offer security services, both for individuals and professionals. Mostly, the legit stuff is playing bodyguard to hot-shot CEOs who are convinced that someone wants them dead. Behind the scenes, the company is a front for arms and intelligence trading. He's been pretty heavy to concentrate on the arms but more and more it's getting into intel. It's more lucrative, even compared to arms dealing."

"So why not just bust him for selling secrets and weapons?" asked Gibbs, some of the edge gone in his voice.

"It's not exactly clear yet how many NCIS agents he's pulled into his operation. We know that a couple retirees are running security detail and his number two is Jonathan Chen, who transferred from San Diego to New York just to work on Sizer's team. He's got hooks all over the organization and the problem is that he doesn't always inform his contacts of the details. Some agents performed work for him that they had absolutely no idea was being used for this purpose. Or he flat-out lies to them. We intercepted several forged documents, some even fake orders. It's been a challenge in both staying discreet and sorting out the liars."

"Well, yeah, Gray," Gibbs retorted, taking his coffee from his desk and going in the direction of the stairs. Once he was out of earshot, Hannah let out a breath.

"I thought he might actually kill me this time," she said to Tony and McGee.

"Hannah used to be a member of the team, before she completely deserted us for the Big Apple," Tony explained to McGee. Hannah rolled her eyes but smiled. "She was here before Kate."

"Yeah, I got stuck working with this hoodlum for almost two years. But as you can see, he turned out all right, no doubt in part to my expert training. That, and living through the Leroy Jethro Gibbs Crash Course in Life." The two other agents laughed.

"So, how've ya been?" Tony asked.

"Apart from being almost blown up this morning?"

"Apart from that, yes."

"Eh, ok. Long hours. Trying to run this under Sizer's nose and keeping up with a regular caseload. I know I haven't been in touch much recently."

"Sounds like you've got your hands full." Hannah nodded, then looked around the familiar squad room. McGee was typing away at his computer, oblivious to any outside conversation.

"Has there been any change in Agent David's condition?" Hannah asked Tony in a low voice. He looked over at her abruptly, expressionless.

"You heard about that?"

"Yeah."

"No change. The doctors aren't overly optimistic."

"I've seen agents come out of worse." Tony nodded. Hannah looked up as she heard carpeted footfalls above her. Gibbs was back and Director Vance was coming with him. "Incoming," she whispered to her fellow agent.

"I'll never understand how you always knew. I get caught five times a week by Gibbs coming up behind me."

"My dad was a Marine, Tony, and he trained me well."

"Did he train you to stay out of explosions, Agent Gray? How about bringing backup to meet a contact who may or may not have blown your cover?" So Gibbs was still angry, then.

"He wasn't an NCIS agent."

"No, but you are."

"Gibbs," the director interrupted. He turned to Hannah. "Did you see Sizer at the crime scene?"

"No," Hannah admitted. "He never showed. It was odd, though, because he'd gotten really complacent prior to today. We've connected him to several other bombings and the death of another agent. He was present at each of those events, most likely to see the outcome of his handiwork. He seems particularly proud of the fact that he pulled a fast one on Uncle Sam."

"Do we have enough to bring him in?" the director asked.

"Not yet. This last meeting was supposed to give me the final nail in the coffin, so to speak, but like I said, he never showed."

"Yeah, probably because he knew you were going to turn him in, Gray," Gibbs muttered.

"Other than the incident this morning, I've had absolutely zero indication that Sizer knew it was me. I've been directing things on the sidelines, mostly, given that I'm a bit of a high-profile investigator at the moment." Though it wasn't much, Hannah was happy to thrust this little bit of information in her former boss's face. "He had no reason to think I was involved at all."

"Till you showed up," Gibbs shot back. Well, she'd walked right into that one.

"I put in a leave request last week. I'm supposed to be in DC for the week, catching up with my old friends at NCIS. Specifically, my old team. If everything had gone to plan today, DiNozzo and I would probably be having lunch right about now." Tony smiled.

"I'm the first guy you see when you come back to DC?" he asked, a wide grin spreading across his face. Hannah also smiled, knowing what Tony really meant.

"Don't get your hopes up, DiNozzo. You were my cover. I was supposed to be in town, see a few friends, and that's it. Sizer was obviously the one who approved my leave, so he knew I was going to be here. That I happened to be at that particular coffee shop doesn't mean anything. It's near where I used to live and for all Sizer knows, I was a regular patron. I doubt anyone would question the fact that I picked up my coffee-drinking habits from anyone but you, Gibbs." As if to prove the point, Hannah nodded to the fact that Gibbs happened to be tossing yet another paper coffee cup into his trash. "I still don't think my cover is blown."

"Or he knows everything and was trying to get you out of the picture," Gibbs said with that infamous and infuriating nonchalance.

"No," Hannah maintained stubbornly. "There's not enough to connect me."

"You better hope not," Gibbs warned, looking at Hannah rather pointedly.


	5. Chapter 5

"What is his problem?" Hannah asked no one in particular, though Tony answered anyway.

"You know how Gibbs is."

"Yeah, Tony, I know how Gibbs is. Doesn't matter. I think he's still pissed that I left." Hannah took a sip of her drink, trying to drown out thoughts in her brain with liquid in her mouth.

"Hannah, it was almost seven years ago. I think he's gotten over it," Tony said.

"Some people get over it. Gibbs builds boats." Tony conceded that Hannah had a point. "Then again, I thought for sure I'd get a lecture about rules eight and fifteen."

"What're eight and fifteen again?" asked McGee. They were all sitting at a bar in Georgetown, one that Tony and Hannah used to frequent when she lived in DC.

"Never take anything for granted and always work as a team," Hannah replied.

"Well, you know, Gibbs kind of has a point, too," Tony said, far more incisively than Hannah would have liked.

"I want Sizer, DiNozzo. I've been working pretty much non-stop on this for the last two years, and I've been gathering intel since Shepard was still director."

"I worked with someone once who wanted to get someone that badly, too. It didn't end well." Hannah tried to question her fellow agent but DiNozzo cut her off. "It just didn't end well," was all he'd say, and with a slight jaw-clenching at that.

"What makes you think he didn't see you?" McGee asked, trying to restore peace.

"Between us, I think my cover is blown. But I'm not about to let Gibbs get in my face and shove that down my throat, too."

"Then how, exactly, do you expect to work this case anymore?" asked Tony, again with the pointed tone. Hannah rubbed her forehead.

"I don't know, DiNozzo. I wasn't planning on things going badly today."

"Well, I suppose it's possible that he still doesn't know it's you," McGee interrupted thoughtfully. "You said you didn't see him, so maybe he wasn't really there."

"He had to be there. He's always there. I just didn't see him."

"But…why?" pressed McGee, clearly voicing a hunch. "Why was he so visible all of the other times and not this one? What's different?"

"Me," Hannah said slowly. "This was the only time I was out in the open. At all of the other meets, I was doing surveillance. Which means one of the undercover agents we sent out got their cover blown long before he knew I was involved. I'm guessing he put the pieces together." Hannah sighed. "Gibbs was right. This morning wasn't a meet."

"Guess it looks like you're staying with me tonight," Tony volunteered, a happy smile on his face.

"Guess again, DiNozzo. I'm a trained federal agent. I can take care of myself. Besides, I'm not sitting through another one of your movie marathons." Tony pretended to look hurt at the suggestion that Hannah didn't want to stay with him. "No, Tony. Never again. Not after the last time."

"Last time?" asked McGee, having the distinct feeling of a great story coming on.

"Tony tried to get me to watch the entire Police Academy series, one right after the other. I nearly shot him before we got even halfway through."

"That bad, huh?"

"No, the movies I didn't really care about. It was his incessant talking and references to other films during the entire thing that bothered me." Hannah glared at Tony. "Lucky for DiNozzo, though, I didn't feel it was prudent to use my gun at the time." Tony smiled again, as if to say, What can I say? "What he didn't know is that I also had my knife with me and figured it would have been a lot quieter." DiNozzo's smile instantly slipped off his face. Now it was Hannah's turn to show her glee. McGee couldn't help but chuckle; there had been many times when Tony's irritating habit of making everything in life into a movie reference had brought him to the edge of his own patience.

Not long after that, the three agents decided to go home. It was late and they'd all have an early start at the Navy Yard in the morning. Tony volunteered to drive Hannah back to her hotel but she refused on the grounds that it was in the opposite direction of his apartment.

"Where are you staying, again?" McGee asked.

"The Plaza Arms. Not my first choice, but since the Navy's paying for it, I guess I can hardly be picky."

"Oh, that's actually on my way home. Why don't I go with you?" Hannah stared in disbelief at the two agents in front of her.

"Wow, guys, I forgot for a second that it's 1953 and a girl needs a guy to walk her home and make sure she's safe."

"Hannah…" Tony didn't finish but he didn't have to. Hannah knew he wanted to say something about Sizer trying to kill her.

"As I said before: I'm a trained federal agent and I can take care of myself."

"Ok, I'll make you a deal. Either you let McGee take you home or I'm dragging you back to my place kicking and screaming. And there's a new Gary Cooper with your name on it." Hannah's eyes widened in horror.

"McGee," she said, turning toward the other man, "looks like you and I are about to get acquainted a little better. Shall we?" McGee smiled and pointed Hannah in the direction of his car.

"Oh, and Tony? Try something like this again and I won't bother saving you the embarrassment of getting your ass kicked in front of a coworker," Hannah called back. The last thing she saw before she slipped into the car was Tony's triumphant smirk disappear off his face. She smiled to herself and shut the door, and didn't look back once they'd begun to drive off.

"Thanks, Agent McGee. Despite all of Tony's protesting, you really didn't have to drive me back to the hotel."

"I was happy to do it. And please, it's Tim."

"Tim," Hannah repeated, smiling. They drove mostly in silence to the hotel, Hannah desperately trying to find something other than the case to talk about. McGee didn't seem too eager to chat until they reached her hotel roughly ten minutes later.

"Ready to go in?" McGee asked, preparing to open his door. Hannah gave a tight smile but didn't move.

"Honestly, Tim, I'm fine. I can go back to my hotel room by myself."

"Yeah? And let me get chewed out by Tony tomorrow because I didn't walk you to your door? I don't think so." Hannah laughed, knowing how true the statement was. She opened her door and stepped out into cool and refreshing air, as it had rained a little earlier in the evening. McGee followed suit and they walked into the hotel, chatting a little bit.

"So, DiNozzo tells me that you like to play online games," Hannah said, struggling to remember what, exactly, Tony had told her about his colleagues.

"Yeah, I play a little. Some MMORPGs and stuff."

"That's cool." They walked the rest of the way to the elevators in silence. Once Hannah pushed the up button, the dinging of the elevator also seemed to ding her memory. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Tony also told me you did some writing?" McGee blushed, though Hannah didn't really understand why. She'd meant the comment as a compliment, of sorts.

"A little. I try, anyway."

"Anything I know?"

"Probably not." There was that blush again. Hannah smiled, trying to make the other agent easier.

"So, New York, huh? You must have been one of the first agents there when they opened the new unit there," McGee commented, trying not to keep a silence between the two.

"Yeah. I'm not sure Gibbs really ever forgave me for leaving but it felt like such a great opportunity, you know?"

"How long were you on Gibbs's team?"

"Six years, two of them with DiNozzo."

"That'd be enough to make anyone leave."

"I see. And how long have you worked with Tony?" McGee blushed again and smiled like a guilty little boy.

"Six years." Hannah nodded, with a coy smile.

"Not anyone, then." They both chuckled as the elevator stopped on Hannah's floor and opened for them to exit. "I'm just a little down the hall," she said, pointing to her door. At 705, they stopped.

"Well, thank you, Tim, for walking me right to my door. Now you can report back to Tony that I'm safe and sound." A crash inside the room made them both turn quickly toward the door and draw their weapons. Hannah silently held up her room key and nodded toward McGee to signify she was going to unlock the door. It might alert whoever was in the room that they were coming, yes, but it was also the only way to get in.

The electronic key reader beeped quietly as the door unlocked. Hannah turned the doorknob slowly and pushed the door open enough so it wouldn't re-lock. She indicated to McGee that he was to follow her. They both inched into the pitch-black hotel room, wondering at what they would find, though they both had a pretty good idea. As Hannah's eyes adjusted, she could just make out the form of someone getting up off the floor. She was about to point her Sig in what she hoped was the temple when McGee hit the lights. As if on cue, they both yelled, "Federal agents! Freeze!"

Because Hannah had been so close to the perpetrator, she could feel his movements before her brain really registered them. Running movements. He might have gotten away, too, if it hadn't been for the hood of his sweatshirt, which Hannah pulled and held with all her might to keep the man from escaping. With the lights on, it became obvious that it wasn't Sizer. As McGee closed in on the guy, his gun still drawn, Hannah whirled him around to see his face. It was Jonathan Chen, Sizer's number two. Gibbs was not going to like this one damn bit.


	6. Chapter 6

It had been a long night. The crime scene alone had taken over two hours, which wasn't terrible, but with it came an exceptionally angry Gibbs and an angry and worried Tony. After Gibbs had left, Tony stayed behind to give Hannah a piece of his mind, which included the words "reckless" and "unbelievable" rather often. He ended the rant by trying to force Hannah to come and stay with him. While she obviously wouldn't be able to use her room, or the hotel, any longer, she refused Tony at every turn.

"Hannah, you've got no place else to go. You can't stay in the hotel, so what are you going to do? Wake up your other friends at 3 in the morning and ask to stay there? How would they be able to protect you?"

"I told you, DiNozzo, I don't need protection, I can take care of myself!"

"Oh, like you took care of yourself tonight, when you returned to your hotel room and found an attacker waiting for you? If he hadn't tripped over a glass coffee table and shattered it everywhere, you wouldn't have even known he was in there!" While Tony was right about this, Hannah wouldn't concede the point.

"I'm armed, Tony."

"Yeah, and if he shoots you before you can even get your gun out of its holster, what good does it do you?" Hannah would not answer any more of Tony's questions. She'd had enough for the night: she was tired and all she wanted to do was lay down in a comfortable bed, fall asleep, and wake up without any of this ever happening. She regretted immensely even taking the mission when Director Shepard had offered it. But, as they say, she had made her bed and now, whether she liked it or not, she had to lie in it.

"Hannah, I think Tony's right," McGee said softly. "It's not safe for you here."

"Not you too, Tim," Hannah snapped, having long since reached the end of her rope.

"A guy just tried to kill you. What about that seems safe to you?" Tony interjected.

"Enough, DiNozzo! I'm getting another room in this hotel, I'm going to change into some pajamas and I'm going to get some damn sleep!" she said, her voice raised. Before she had time to react, Tony had slapped half of his handcuffs around her left wrist.

"Not if I have anything to say about it," he replied, circling the other half of the cuffs around his own wrist.

"DiNozzo! What the hell do you think you're doing? For the last time, I'm not staying at your place!"

"I'm not taking you to my place," he said matter-of-factly. Hannah had the fleeting thought that he might actually be taking her to jail, until she realized he couldn't get her in without some kind of charge against her. That was when she knew where, exactly, she was going: she was about to be delivered to Gibbs.

Once the two agents arrived at the familiar home of their leader, Tony dragged Hannah out of the car and through the still-unlocked front door, arguing about whether or not he should remove the handcuffs. She had expected him to at least uncuff her once they got into the house, but Tony's argument seemed to be that he couldn't trust her not to run if he did. They walked toward the basement and when they reached the top of the stairs, the dispute changed to include who would descend the steps first. Hannah lost and was forced to go first. She saw Gibbs sanding his boat out of the corner of her eye, and she found it strange that he hadn't even looked up, much less come upstairs when he heard Hannah and Tony arguing as they moved through the house. As soon as she had presented that question in her head, she had her answer. Gibbs had been expecting them. He and DiNozzo must have planned the whole thing in advance, because Tony had given no word that they would be arriving.

"What is going on? First DiNozzo kidnaps me and now, you don't look a bit surprised that we ended up here," Hannah accused Gibbs. "I'm guessing this was some sort of master plan to 'save me from myself' or something like it." Tony and Hannah had reached the bottom of the stairs and were now standing in front of Gibbs.

"Uncuff her," Gibbs said to DiNozzo, not bothering to acknowledge Hannah. Tony unlocked the handcuffs and Hannah reflexively rubbed her wrist. They hadn't been that tight, but they certainly weren't comfortable, either. "Ok, DiNozzo. Go home. Get some rest." Tony looked as though he might protest, then thought better of it and left the basement. Gibbs went back to sanding his boat, and Hannah stood there, feeling more than a little stupid.

"You were never supposed to be involved," she defended, before Gibbs could say anything. "None of this was ever supposed to happen."

"But it did."

"How the hell was I supposed to know he was going to blow up that coffee shop? I checked for traps, there was nothing." Gibbs stopped sanding for a moment to give Hannah a look that clearly read Obviously Not. "I checked everything, I—" It suddenly dawned on Hannah that her boss was sanding his boat. He looked up at her pause. "Chen's in custody," she said.

"Yep."

"But you're…here." Gibbs tossed the sandpaper down. "Why are you here, Boss? Why aren't you questioning Chen?" It made Hannah nervous to see Gibbs so unnerved.

"Director thought it'd be better if he questioned Chen," he replied bitterly. "Didn't seem to want me involved at all."

"What? How does that make sense?"

"Because of you," Gibbs said simply. "Leon seemed to think this was a little too personal for me to get involved in." Hannah sighed in frustration as Gibbs returned to the boat.

"I'm sorry, Boss." That she'd apologized and he let her get away with it surprised Hannah. Gibbs had just shrugged and gone back to sanding.

"He already didn't want me involved." Without knowing where to lead the conversation next, Hannah picked up an extra piece of sandpaper and joined Gibbs at the side of the small boat. A few minutes passed in silence until Gibbs spoke again. "I think you know why."

"Why what?" Hannah asked, looking at her former boss.

"Why the Director doesn't want me working this case."

"Our director has not decided to share that particular piece of information with me. But if I were him, I think it's a mistake. I'd want you working this case."

"Then you know what he doesn't want me to find out."

"Sorry. Guess I don't need to know it."

"Well, what do you know, Gray?"

"Mostly what I told you the other day."

"And the parts you didn't tell me?" Hannah stopped sanding. She'd been dying to tell Gibbs what she knew, but she wasn't sure the Director wouldn't have some way of finding out. Like bugging Gibbs' basement. History, however, can be a greater source of persuasion than consequences.

"The deposits into Petty Officer Wells' bank account. That's what I was originally assigned to figure out. The Navy thought it was a simple case of fraud, because it looked like the funds had been embezzled. When I looked into it, though, it was clear that Wells had no access to anything that would allow him to take the money. So I started tracing the trail and I ended up at Sizer's desk."

"What does this have to do with the Lebanese terrorist groups?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"So you can't tell me why my agent is lying in a hospital bed."

"No, I can't."

"It's just as well," Gibbs said mysteriously, then picked up his sandpaper as if nothing had happened.

* * *

><p>Tony couldn't sleep. He often couldn't sleep, but a few drinks and a movie usually knocked him out enough that he could get some rest. Tonight hadn't felt like the night for that kind of thing, though, so he was left alone in his apartment with nothing but his racing thoughts. He'd done everything he'd ever heard made anyone even slightly sleepy: counting sheep, making tea, showering, whatever he could think of. On an impulse, he grabbed his car keys. Maybe making yourself tired while in a moving vehicle wasn't the smartest idea, but at 3 a.m., he really didn't care.<p>

Embracing the freedom of the empty streets, he turned his car onto a freeway entrance ramp and one of the few places he was guaranteed would be open at this hour. The drive usually took an hour or more in traffic, but given the deadness of the night, Tony managed it in twenty minutes. That, and he was going probably eighty-five miles an hour. Parking usually added another twenty minutes but not tonight. Once he entered the quiet but still active hospital, he immediately jumped on the nearest elevator and rode to the tenth floor. He felt stupid going to see Ziva but at this point his mind wasn't really giving any other option. Tony nodded at the nurse on duty and walked over to his colleague's room, guarded by another NCIS agent. He flashed his badge at the man and started to open the door, but the agent stopped him.

"Excuse me, I'm trying to get in here. I work with her, and thought I'd pay her a visit."

"I can't let anyone in."

"I am Special Agent Anthony DiNozzo of the Naval Criminal Investigative Service. I have shown you as much with my badge. Let me in."

"Sorry, Agent DiNozzo, I have strict orders from the director not to let anyone in." Tony honestly wanted to fight the guy. All he wanted to do was see a friend! Agent Dudley Do-Right, on the other hand, was bigger and armed.

"Fine. Great. Whatever." Tony walked away from the room and boarded another elevator. He quickly stopped by his apartment for a clean shirt, a blazer and his gun, then drove himself to work. No sleeping tonight, no siree.

* * *

><p>A few hours later, Tony noticed McGee stepping off the elevator and tried to hide the fact that he hadn't slept, other than a little at his desk.<p>

"Hey," McGee said when he saw his coworker. "You look like crap." So much for that.

"Didn't sleep well."

"Didn't sleep at all, from the looks of it."

"So what, McGee?"

"Sorry I said anything." Tim sat down at his computer and began typing away.

"I tried to see Ziva last night."

"What happened?"

"They wouldn't let me in. I told them I was NCIS, I told them she was my friend, nothing. They're not letting anyone in." McGee looked over at Tony, a little concerned at this news.

"That's weird."

"Yeah. What the hell is going on? We can't investigate this case, we can't even see Ziva, Hannah shows up after seven years to work a case she shouldn't even be assigned to…something's not right here, Magoo."

"Where's Gibbs?" the director asked, striding over to the bullpen like a man on a very urgent mission.

"Not in yet," replied DiNozzo. "Hey. Why can't we see Ziva?"

"We don't know why she was attacked, DiNozzo. For all we know, we have a group targeting NCIS agents. Let's not make it any easier for them. Let me know when Gibbs gets in." The director walked to the stairs. Tony and McGee discussed this new development a little, then gradually went back to work. Gibbs showed up not much later, Hannah in tow. She said hello to the two boys then went directly upstairs to the director's office.

"Director's looking for you," Tony said. Gibbs did not immediately set off to see his employer.

"Leon can wait," he muttered under his breath.

"Boss, have you tried to see Ziva?" Tim asked.

"Can't. Director doesn't want anyone to see her."

"Well, that would have been nice to know," Tony said.

"What've we got?" Gibbs asked, ignoring his Senior Field Agent.

"Nothing. We've got no case." Gibbs looked up to see Hannah standing at the railing upstairs, staring at him. He could put off the director no longer.

"Look, boys," he said barely above a whisper, "I need you to work this case, no matter what the director says. Something is not right and it involves one of my team. We're going to get to the bottom of this, got it?" The two agents nodded in asset and immediately went to work, while Gibbs set his jaw and climbed the stairs.


	7. Chapter 7

Tony smoothly pulled the Charger next to the curb on a nearly empty street. The homes were small but well-kept, while shady trees lent comfort from the hot Virginia sun. It was all very residential, very suburban. He could just picture Petty Officer Wells' childhood here: the summers riding bikes in the street and cooling off with a neighbor's garden hose; fall, when the leaves would turn russet, gold and raw sienna, then cast a lovely autumnal glow on the neighborhood, while the cool air gave the same thrilling sensation as biting into a crisp Red Delicious; winter, especially Christmas, with comfortable families in comfortable homes expressing themselves in the season of love and giving; and the spring renewal, the pastel shades of crocuses and daffodils and pale green buds adding much-needed color to the otherwise bleak skies and snowy lawns.

"DiNozzo?" McGee's voice interrupted Tony's amusing reverie. "You ok?"

"What?" he snapped. "Oh, yeah, fine. Just thinking." McGee didn't say anything. He wasn't about to tell an ill-humored Tony that he was slightly worried about him, and he could handle himself for a few hours while Tony got some sleep. "Sorry, McProbie. Nice neighborhood. Must have been a great place to grow up. Doesn't seem like the kind of place that spits out murder victims. So, let's go visit Mr. and Mrs. …Christopher and Audrey Wells? And they came from Lebanon? What's up with that?"

"Let's just get this over with, I'm sure it's nothing. They probably just changed it to fit in better." McGee mumbled in response. This was his least favorite part. Tim had always wanted to be an NCIS field agent, but in his childhood adventures playing World's Best Secret Agent, having to ask parents who just lost a son uncomfortable and invasive questions didn't make it into the fantasy.

The two agents walked to the small porch and DiNozzo rapped briskly at the door. Not the knock of a friend, but someone who means and probably has unpleasant business.

"Can I help you?" a small woman with skin the color of cappuccino asked after opening the door.

"Mrs. Wells?"

"Yes?"

"My name is Agent DiNozzo and this is my partner Agent McGee. We're from NCIS and we need to ask you a few questions about your son, Nicholas."

"Please, come in," she said quickly, then allowed the agents to entered. Out of habit, both Tim and Tony took a quick glance around the home as they were shown to comfortable armchairs. "Let me get my husband," Mrs. Wells said, then disappeared for a few moments.

"Nice place," Tim remarked. Tony nodded his assent, and Mr. and Mrs. Wells appeared in the living room. They chose a small loveseat across from Tim and Tony.

"Is this about Nick?" Mr. Wells asked.

"Yes," Tony answered. Tim would stay silent as long as he could, hoping his face somehow conveyed his sympathy, rather than his words.

"Do you have any suspects?"

"Not at the moment, no. But we do have some questions. Firstly, you immigrated to the U.S. about twenty-five years ago from Lebanon, correct?"

"Yes," Mrs. Wells said. "Things were difficult there. I had just found out I was pregnant with Nick. We didn't want our son to grow up in a country torn apart by war, with little opportunity for him. We came to the best place we could think of." She smiled as she looked around her. "Obviously, it was the right choice." Tony returned the smile, but only briefly.

"Did Petty Officer Wells have any enemies, or anyone that might have wanted to hurt him?"

"No, nothing like that," Mr. Wells spoke up. "Most people liked Nick."

"Most?" Tony asked, raising an eyebrow.

"You can't expect to be popular with everyone. Nick had people who didn't care for him, but nothing beyond a disliking. Not enough to…" Mr. Wells faded off, unable to bring himself to speak of his son's death.

"Any financial trouble?"

"No, of course not! We raised our son to be careful with money."

"Did you know about the monthly ten thousand dollar deposits your son was receiving?" The Wells' shocked expressions told Tony no, they did not.

"How close was Nicholas with his extended family? I understand most of them still reside in Lebanon."

"We went there a few times while Nick was growing up," Mrs. Wells explained. "He knew his family, but not very well. I believe he emails some of his cousins, but nothing more than that."

"Not your brother?" DiNozzo asked Mr. Wells.

"No, no. Nicholas had nothing to do with that man. He met him a couple of times and was never alone with him. When my wife and I started hearing funny things about Bashir, we wouldn't let Nick have any contact with him. I haven't seen or spoken to him since the last time we went to Lebanon, which was in 1997."

"What kind of funny things?"

"Disturbing things—the kind of people he ran with, their activities."

"Activities?"

"I know what you want, Agent DiNozzo. You want to know if Bashir is a terrorist, and if my son was part of it. To tell you the truth, I don't know about my brother. I know his name has come up because of that bombing in Lebanon, but I don't know if he was behind it or not. As for my son, he would never be involved in something like that. Ever." Tony wanted to believe Mr. Wells. But he'd been doing this for too long to take the word of a parent who simply cannot believe their child would get mixed up in anything so horrifying.

"Can you think of any other reason why someone might want to kill your son?"

"No," Mrs. Wells said softly. "Nick was well-liked, had good friends. We raised a good boy." Tony nodded curtly then flipped the cover to his notepad shut.

"If you can think of anything," he entreated the couple while he handed them his card. "Please, don't hesitate to call." DiNozzo nodded at McGee and they both stood to leave. As they were about to walk out the door, Tony stopped for just a moment.

"One more thing," he said. "You're both born in Lebanon. Your brother's name is Bashir. How'd you end up with names like Christopher and Audrey?" The two smiled at the agents.

"We wanted to fit in better, so we had them changed when we moved here," Mrs. Wells said. "I love films, especially Audrey Hepburn. Breakfast at Tiffany's, yes?"

"And I love history," her husband explained. "Where would America be without Christopher Columbus?" Tony nodded and smiled, then led the way out the door.

"Breakfast at Tiffany's," he said as they approached the car. "Well, nothing more American than that."

"He does know that Christopher Columbus basically massacred every other native he saw and enslaved the ones he didn't kill, right?" Tim asked, an appalled expression on his face.

"Get in the car, McBuzzkill," DiNozzo said, then rolled his eyes.

* * *

><p>Up in the director's office, Gibbs was having a hard time trying to explain why he couldn't seem to stay away from the Wells case.<p>

"It's my gut, Leon," he said.

"Gut or not, I don't want you near it, Gibbs. I do not want to have to tell you this again, are we clear?" Gibbs did not immediately respond.

"Sir, maybe it's best if we bring Agent Gibbs in on this. He could provide invaluable insight and expertise, and…" Hannah tried to suggest, but the director interrupted.

"Agent Gray, we have been through this too many times. Your ideas are noted but I will run this agency as I see fit, do you understand?" Hannah nodded, though her face remained taut.

"Yes, sir."

"Now what I want both of you to do is do exactly as you're assigned. Gibbs, for you that means getting a new case. Gray, you're with me. Are we all absolutely crystal clear on every point of this?"

"Crystal," Gibbs and Hannah replied in unison.

* * *

><p>"I don't like this, McGee," Tony announced when the two had been sitting in the bullpen for nearly an hour, brainstorming. "We have no idea who killed Wells, we don't have any viable suspects, we're not supposed to be working this case anyway and our fearless leader is even more distant and enigmatic than usual, spending most of his time here in the director's office. I do not like this one bit."<p>

"I don't like it either, Tony, but we can't parade around investigating this under the director's nose." DiNozzo did not say anything.

"There's got to be a tie to the uncle," he said. "Where else are these deposits coming from? Have you finished tracing anything?"

"No. They were wire deposits, and they've been bounced all over the world. I'm at a dead end in Switzerland."

"Swiss bank account? Forget it. Without a warrant, we're not getting anything. It's as good as over."

"What've you got?" Gibbs asked irritably as he marched into the area.

"We've still got nothing, Boss," Tony said. "How are we supposed to look into this if we can't use our resources?"

"I don't know, DiNozzo, you're an NCIS agent. Figure it out." Tony gained a momentary reprieve as Gibbs' phone rang. The call ended shortly and he managed to grunt out a brisk, "Going down to Autopsy" before disappearing into the elevator.

"What've you got for me, Duck?" he asked when he arrived.

"A most curious case, Jethro. As I noted at the crime scene, Petty Officer Wells was not killed by the rather obvious stab wound, but probably by asphyxia, given the finger marks around the neck and the petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes. It turns out I was wrong there, also. Whoever killed the petty officer did not strangulate him, at least not fatally."

"Did you call me down here to tell me you've got nothing?" Gibbs asked dangerously.

"Jethro, please. While inspecting Wells' arms, I noticed some odd and seemingly random bruising. Upon further study, I noticed the veins had been partially eaten away in places, cutting off important points of blood flow."

"Eaten away? By what?"

"Oh, I'm thinking an acid. It's consistent with the kind of damage I found, along with some slight chemical burns on the petty officer's esophagus and stomach lining. The substance wasn't fully digested, there wouldn't have been enough time before he died."

"Which acid?"

"I've sent it up to Abby for further identification. What's really strange, though, is that the bruising wasn't random at all. I also noticed these tiny pinpricks…" Here Ducky held up Wells' arm under a magnifying lens. "…you see? They're from a syringe. Whoever poisoned Petty Officer Wells did so by injecting the poison directly into his bloodstream, where it ate away parts of his arteries and cut off blood supply to the heart and brain. His death would have been incredibly painful, though relatively quick."

"What about the poison in his stomach?"

"Probably to hide the fact that someone else injected it. Perhaps they wanted to make it look as though the petty officer drank it in a suicide attempt, as there were no fingerprints to be found on the body. I also found evidence of someone caring for Petty Officer Wells after he died—there was no blood on the outside of his body, as one would expect from any kind of acid ingestion like that. He was cleaned up, put into his uniform and taken to Rock Creek Park. I found a few fibers on the body for Abby to analyze, but that was it. You're dealing with someone very clever and very brutal."

"And very trained. How many people know about this poison injection thing?"

"Oh, I don't know Jethro, probably not that many. I've certainly never seen it before in all my years."

"Not that many is good," Gibbs called as he moved toward the Autopsy doors.

* * *

><p>Abby Sciuto glanced over her shoulder nervously, then took a large sip of Caff-Pow. She'd been waiting for Gibbs and it was unlike him not to magically appear when she had something. Especially when she had something awesome, which she did. She turned back to her computer, then smiled as she heard her favorite dinging noise.<p>

"Perfect timing, Gibbs!" she cried as the doors slid open. He walked into the lab, nonchalantly holding a Caff-Pow refill.

"Been practicing, Abs?" he asked.

"Turned around and said it every fifteen seconds for the last two minutes," Abby admitted. Gibbs smiled.

"What've you got?"

"Ok, this is the coolest way to kill someone. Injecting acid directly into the bloodstream? Hardcore, Gibbs. I mean, Wells would have gone insane, like blood pouring out of his eyeballs and basically every hole your body has to–"

"Abby."

"Right. Sorry." Abby punched a few strokes on her keyboard and a chemical compound popped up. "Ok, so I analyzed the liquid that Ducky sent up. It's your run of the mill hydrochloric acid, but it's in a fairly high concentration. I'm not sure how it didn't eat through the syringe, given that they're made of pretty standard plastic, actually, but I guess we'll never know, as you didn't find one. The two fibers are from some kind of car flooring, but it must be custom because I didn't find any matches in the system."

"So you've got nothing."

"Wrong-o, oh great one. I looked through Wells' hard drive. There wasn't much there, but I did find a few emails in Arabic and already sent them to the guys at the language lab. Would have been easier if Ziva had been here…" Abby looked wistfully at her computer screen. "Can we see her soon, Gibbs? Is she getting any better?"

"As soon as I know, Abs, you'll know." Gibbs kissed Abby on the side of her forehead. She sighed. "Anything else?" he asked gently.

"Yeah. This soda can," she said, holding up the disputed can from the crime scene. "It's weird. There are no fingerprints, no evidence that a human being even handled it, but it's empty and crushed. If it was the killer's, he took a lot of time and effort to wipe down something he was going to leave behind." Gibbs thought on this for a moment.

"He wanted us to find it," he said angrily as the answer came to him. "He's taunting us. Wants to let us know how superior he is." Gibbs handed Abby her Caff-Pow. "Good work, Abs," he complimented her, then practically ran back to the elevator.

"But I barely had anything!" she called after him.

Gibbs sat down at his desk chair once he reached the bullpen. He typed in a few things on his computer, then pretended to be studying a map on another screen. DiNozzo and McGee said nothing, but looked at one another and then rolled their chairs over to Gibbs' desk.

"Campfire, Boss?" Tony asked quietly.

"I want you to run something for me, McGee," Gibbs said, ignoring Tony for the moment. "I want you to find out every single naval officer and Marine that has high-level weapons training that also has access to military labs."

"Boss, that's going to be a huge list." McGee stopped when he saw Gibbs' face. "On it." He rolled back to his desk and began typing furiously.

"DiNozzo," Gibbs said barely above a whisper. "We've been ignoring one aspect of this case for too long. We're going to visit Ziva's and investigate." Tony was surprised, but did not question the idea. He simply grabbed his Sig and headed toward the elevator behind his boss.

"What a mess," Tony declared as he took in Ziva's charred apartment. "What are we looking for, Boss?"

"We'll know it when we find it," Gibbs replied. Tony couldn't help but roll his eyes. Couldn't they have something to go on, just for once? Gibbs was inspecting the fireplace; no doubt he'd gotten the idea from the last time Ziva's place blew up, when they'd found that professional killers had cut the gas line. "Gas is intact," he called to DiNozzo.

"Uh, Boss? I don't think we're going to find anything here," Tony called back. Gibbs sighed in frustration but went to join the younger agent. "I think we're going to find it in there," he explained, pointing through the huge hole in the shared wall between Ziva's and the neighbor. Gibbs nodded in agreement.

"Force of the explosion came from there," he said, noting that the debris from the wall had blown into Ziva's apartment, rather than into the neighbor's.

"So…Ziva wasn't the target?" Tony asked. "There's no related case?"

"I guess not," Gibbs said, though the queasy feeling in his gut just wouldn't go away.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Thanks to everyone who has commented! I appreciate your feedback-and it's nice to know people like the story! Just to give a heads up, this is a fairly long chapter. Also, if you like it, you know the drill. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>McGee was getting frustrated with his computer. To be fair, it wasn't his computer's fault, it was the program he'd written for it, but he was in no mood to self-reflect. Every search he could think of, no matter what the parameters, turned up the same five people. The same five people he'd vetted three hours ago, and they had no connection to either Petty Officer Wells or Ziva. Or anything, for that matter. He rubbed his forehead vigorously, as if somehow that might stimulate his brain into the right answer.<p>

"Gibbs around?" came Hannah's voice, breaking into his thoughts.

"No. Out with DiNozzo."

"Oh. They'll be back…later?"

"I don't know. They didn't tell me where they were going." Hannah saw all too clearly the story on McGee's face: DiNozzo and Gibbs got to go out and do the fun crime scene, while Tim got to stay behind and work the desk. It was a feeling she'd been too intimate with, herself.

"Need some help?"

"Not unless you can think of some search parameters that will show me a magic answer." Hannah laughed and sat down on the edge of Tony's desk.

"I have no magic answers, but I might be able to look at things another way. What are we looking for?"

"High-level weapons training with access to military labs."

"All military?"

"Limited to Navy and Marines." Hannah's face hardened.

"Did you try biological weapons?" she asked.

"I—no, I didn't. Why didn't I think of that?" McGee began typing again.

"Don't bother, Tim. The answer is Sizer."

"Sizer? The guy the director's after?" Hannah nodded. McGee leaned back in his chair. "Gibbs is not going to like this."

"The director will like it even less."

"So where do we go first?" McGee asked. "Director or Gibbs?" Hannah glanced at the stairs, then the elevator.

"Hoo boy," she said softly, then stood up to go.

* * *

><p>Hannah stepped off the elevator and walked toward Autopsy, McGee a few steps behind her. He didn't say anything but he had to admit that he was surprised. He felt sure Hannah would have waited for Gibbs to return. Also, going to Ducky hadn't been one of the choices. Just their luck, however, that Ducky was nowhere in sight—the only one left tending Autopsy, at the moment, was Jimmy Palmer.<p>

The doors _whooshed_ open and Hannah quickly ascertained the good doctor was not there.

"You!" she called to Jimmy. He looked up quickly and immediately became nervous. "Where's Ducky? Where's Gerald, for that matter?" Jimmy looked wildly back and forth between Hannah and Tim.

"Um…Dr. Mallard stepped out for a moment, and I don't know who…Gerald…is."

"It's ok, Jimmy," McGee said. "Hannah, Gerald isn't with NCIS anymore. He was injured just before Kate…just after you left. He hasn't been able to work as Ducky's assistant."

"Oh. And no one tells me these things why?"

"This is Jimmy Palmer, Ducky's new…well, not new, exactly, but new-to-you assistant. I don't know why anyone didn't tell you."

"Hallo, hallo," Ducky said as he entered. "Is there a social gathering I was unaware of?"

"No, Ducky," Hannah answered. "I came to talk to you. Why didn't you tell me Gerald was gone?"

"I did, my dear, through an email. I never got a response, so I suppose you never saw it."

"Oh."

"That's what you came to ask me? About Gerald?"

"No. I wanted to know about Petty Officer Wells. You're sure the cause of death was poisoning?"

"Yes, of course."

"And that it was injected directly into Wells' bloodstream?"

"Hannah, it's all in the report, you read it. It wouldn't be in there if I didn't think it were so." Hannah sighed.

"I know. The glass syringes that you mention in the report—are you certain that's what the killer used?"

"Not entirely, but it would make sense. Given the high level of concentration Abby found in the hydrochloric acid, she would also have found plastic components that had leached into the chemical if a plastic syringe had been used. Glass would eliminate that problem. But it's also possible that the plastic simply didn't get eaten away enough to mix with the acid." Hannah nodded at the doctor's explanation, though it didn't appear to have resolved anything, at least not from what McGee could see.

"Thanks, Ducky," she said, then left Autopsy. McGee followed at a close clip.

"So, does that mean it's Sizer, because of the syringes?"

"Tim, if Gibbs is looking for me, tell him I'm with the director." Instead of getting into the elevator as Tim expected, Hannah opened the door to the stairs and quickly disappeared. McGee went to see his friend Abby.

"Timmy! I was starting to think everyone had forgotten about me. Gibbs has only been down here once the whole time. And I haven't seen you or Tony at all."

"We don't have a lot to come down here for, Abs. We're not supposed to be investigating."

"I know. The director told me. That's never stopped Gibbs."

"Well, for some reason, this time he's listening." Abby made an impatient noise.

"Is that what you think? I'll bet he's bringing in the killer now."

"I don't think so, Abby. We don't even have anything to tie anyone to the crime scene, let alone a suspect."

"Come on, Tim, never lose faith in the great and powerful Gibbs." McGee smiled.

"Have anything new?"

"On Wells? No. Heard anything from the language lab?"

"Nope."

"What about those financials?"

"Dead end in Switzerland."

"Bummer." Abby's phone rang then. She listened for a few moments, then hung up. "Director wants you in his office," she said, then smiled with encouragement.

"Great," McGee mumbled, then started to leave.

"Oh, by the way, McGee," Abby called after him. "Hannah was down here before, and she was asking about you."

"Probably because she thinks I'm incompetent," Tim replied, thinking about his earlier search failures.

"Nope. It's 'cause she thinks smart boys are hot," Abby said, then smiled wickedly and turned back to her computer. Two seconds later when she looked back, he was still standing there, staring at her. McGee briefly furrowed his brow, then went to the elevator without saying anything.

* * *

><p>"Agent McGee," the director welcomed Tim. "Thanks for coming. I have a bit of an odd task for you. Because of recent developments in the Wells case, I have decided that Agent Gray needs…a bit of protection." Hannah didn't seem terribly excited at the prospect, but at least she wasn't kicking and screaming. "For reasons you do not need to know, Agent Gray cannot stay with Gibbs. I believe it is unwise for Hannah to stay with Agent DiNozzo, and so, that leaves you." McGee didn't know whether to be flattered, or...well, flattered seemed to be the only option.<p>

"Are you sure she'll be safe with me, sir?"

"McGee, I want one of Gibbs' agents. You're the only one left."

"I don't have a problem with it if Agent Gray doesn't."

"I don't really have a choice, Tim. This is the director's decision."

"Then, I guess, yeah." The director smiled.

"Good. Agent Gray, you will be returning to Agent McGee's at the end of every work day until further notice." Hannah smiled at McGee, but Tim was still puzzled. Where was all of this coming from? Couldn't he have had a need to know why this was even necessary, especially considering he had no idea what he was supposed to be protecting Hannah from?

"You two can go now," the director prodded, turning back to his desk. Hannah and McGee quickly left the large office to go back to the bullpen.

"So," McGee started, curiosity getting the better of him, "why couldn't you stay with DiNozzo, exactly? I mean, you know him better and everything."

"I informed the director that if I had to stay even one hour under DiNozzo's 'protection,' there was a very good chance that DiNozzo would end up dead."

"Aren't you supposed to be friends with Tony?"

"Oh, I am. And that's it. I like DiNozzo a lot, I really do, but I can only handle him for so long. That's why we're friends, because at the end of the day, we both go elsewhere." McGee smiled in understanding.

"I think we all kinda feel that way sometimes," he said. Hannah looked at her watch.

"Gibbs and DiNozzo will probably be back soon, if they're not already, and it's nearly time to go," she said. "Once more into the breach and then onward." The two returned to the squad room and found the others at their desks.

"Have fun?" Hannah asked Gibbs, a note of accusation in her voice. Gibbs did not reply but did not seem particularly happy at Hannah's comment.

"McGee, what've you got?" Tim glanced quickly at Hannah, knowing she was reporting to the director.

"I already know you guys are working the Wells case, Tim," she said.

"One possibility, Boss. First, I did a traditional weapons search cross-referencing military lab access, like you asked, but—you don't care, you want to know what I found. Right. Nothing for traditional weapons," here McGee began typing at top speed, "but when I expanded the search to bio weapons, one name came up: Agent Sizer." Gibbs leaned back in his chair, angry and frustrated that they were so close to an answer and so far from an arrest.

"Anything to tie him to Wells, anything at all? Were they ever in the same room once?"

"It doesn't look that way, Boss."

"What about Wells' financials? Anything on those deposits?"

"I tried to trace them back to the sender, but I couldn't ever get past Switzerland." Gibbs let out a frustrated sigh.

"Ok, McGee. Go home. Get some rest."

"Boss..."

"Go."

"No, it's just...I'm supposed to take Hannah with me. Director's orders." Gibbs was especially unhappy at this announcement, though he did not seem surprised.

"She'll be down in a second." McGee had no choice but to leave the floor and wait for Hannah downstairs.

"Tony...you too. Go home, get some sleep." DiNozzo did not bother to argue with his boss. He knew that tone of voice, and what's more, he wasn't about to turn down getting back to his comfortable bed. Gibbs did not say anything until Tony left.

"What've you got?" he asked Hannah quietly.

"I know it's Sizer, Boss. I know it. I know it in my bones, much less my gut, but I've got nothing to prove it. Not a thing. The crime scene is clean and I know he sent those deposits to Wells, but like Tim said, everything stops in Switzerland and we can't trace it any further. I can't get a warrant for them, either. Ducky said that the poison was probably injected with a glass syringe and that's been Sizer's MO since day one. You know how good he was with biological weapons, we all know. This whole thing reeks of Sizer and I can't find one damn thing that will stand up in court."

"Ok," Gibbs said. "Then go home. Get some rest. Start fresh tomorrow." Hannah gave Gibbs one last look, as if to protest, then collected her things and headed toward the elevator.

* * *

><p>"I know it's not much, but it's home," McGee said as Hannah walked into his place.<p>

"It's cute," she complimented. "Cozy."

"I don't think there's much in the fridge, either."

"There's always takeout. So," Hannah said, getting right down to business, "do you have a spare laptop?" She held up a small flash drive. "I brought the case home with me."

"Maybe we should just get some rest, like Gibbs said."

"No way, Tim. I have been working on this for too long to let Sizer think he got the best of me, or the best of Gibbs, for that matter. I know he didn't pull this off perfectly. He screwed up somewhere along the line and I'm going to find it." McGee knew it would be useless to argue. He'd encountered that brand of logic too many times to think otherwise. He went to the closet where he kept all of his spare computer things and found a small notebook for Hannah to use. In the meantime, she had ordered Chinese.

"I wasn't sure what you'd want, so I just ordered a bunch of stuff."

"Sounds good to me, I'm starving." Hannah opened the computer and quickly got it up and running.

"Ok," she said, staring at the screen. "I have Wells' financials here. I know he's getting his deposits from Sizer. I don't know why, and I don't know if that's why Sizer killed him, but they have to be coming from him. Maybe Wells asked for more money and Sizer didn't want to pay."

"But why? What was he paying him for in the first place?"

"My first thought was blackmail. Maybe Wells found out what Sizer was up to and threatened to tell someone."

"Maybe." McGee gazed off into space for several moments. "But Wells and Sizer didn't have access to one another. As far as well can tell, they never even met."

"I've been trying to follow this money trail for probably three months now. I can't ever get past Switzerland, either. There's got to be some way, though, because the wires did not originate there. And for what it's worth, the deposits Wells received never came out of Sizer's personal accounts, which was smart."

"Are you sure they're from Agent Sizer? I know you think they came from him and it does make sense, but maybe that's what's tripping this up. We're looking at it the wrong way." Hannah looked at her screen for another few moments, then quickly brought up a couple of documents. Before she could show Tim what she was thinking, the food arrived.

"Look at this," she said when everything had been paid for and distributed. "These are the emails the guys in the language lab translated. They're between Wells and his uncle, Bashir Moussalem. He's inviting Wells to join his organization—translates as 'Freedom's Light'–but Wells doesn't want anything to do with it.

"This is the same group that organized all of those anti-Israeli attacks, right?"

"Yeah. But a few months later, Wells changes his mind and tells his uncle that he wants in. The deposits started arriving two months later."

"So Wells was in league with his uncle? How does that connect to Sizer?"

"I have no idea. But Tim, the poison in the bloodstream is a particular favorite of Sizer's. It's always been his thing. He excels with bio-weapons. He practically invented the technique."

"But if the deposits started two months after Wells told his uncle that he'd join Freedom's Light..."

"I know. The deposits must have come from there. It'd be too much of a coincidence." Hannah looked at Tim. "Maybe we're both right. Maybe Sizer is working with Freedom's Light. Bashir recruited his nephew, and maybe Wells got involved with Sizer that way. What if Wells decided he didn't want to do it anymore but he was already in too deep? The only way out is death. So, perhaps Petty Officer Wells threatened to go to the authorities and Sizer was either ordered or took it upon himself to kill him."

"One question: why does Wells change his mind? According to his parents, he was a good kid who barely knew his uncle."

"Tim, your parents think you're a good kid too, but I'm guessing that you act differently when you're not at their house." McGee was surprised by this assessment.

"Not really." Hannah smiled but rolled her eyes.

"Tim, I don't know a single person who becomes an NCIS field agent unless they've got a little bit of an edge to them. And besides, anyone who works with DiNozzo for six years and doesn't quit is bound to have a few tricks up their sleeve." McGee blushed at the compliment.

"Thanks, I guess." Hannah closed the computer and leaned back on the couch, yawning.

"All that Chinese food," she explained. "It's making me sleepy."

"It's been a long day. We should get some sleep."

"Yeah. Gibbs wasn't kidding when he said he wants us rested. Do you have any blankets or extra pillows? I don't necessarily need them, but they do make a couch slightly more comfortable."

"Oh, um, I was planning on taking the couch."

"No, no, it's fine. I've slept in much worse places, believe me."

"Well, no, it's not that, it's just…you're technically in protective custody, and I figured the further away from the front door you are, the better." Hannah stared at McGee as if he'd grown another head.

"Tim, I –" McGee braced for the worst. "–Thanks, I guess. Yeah. Thanks." Which McGee knew hadn't been what Hannah was about to say at all, but he'd take what he could get.

"You're welcome."

"Also, I…well, I kind of don't have any pajamas. They're probably sitting in Abby's lab, just waiting to be tested for all kinds of nefarious substances. You know, from the hotel the other night." It seemed like a million years ago now.

"Oh, um, I've got—well, I've got a few things you can borrow, if it doesn't bother you." Borrowing a fork was one thing; borrowing pajamas fell into an entirely different category. Hannah wasn't about to go around naked, however, so she had no choice but to accept the offer.

"Uh, sure." McGee disappeared for a few moments and returned with a neatly folded stack.

"I haven't worn this in years, probably. They're clean," he was quick to add. "Um, just been sitting in a drawer for awhile."

"Oh. Thanks." Hannah smiled very briefly. "Um, where's the bathroom?"

"Oh! Just around the corner, through the bedroom." Hannah disappeared to change her clothes while McGee snuck into the bedroom to grab more jammies for himself. That was the last thing he needed, Hannah to catch him hanging around the bathroom, like some pervert. She was really cute and McGee couldn't quite seem to keep Abby's comment from rattling around his mind. _Hannah was asking about you. She thinks smart boys are hot._ McGee shook his head, as if to try and physically rid himself of the thing he'd been mentally repeating since lunch. Quickly changing into his pajamas, McGee rushed to the living room before Hannah could return.

"You know, there's something I can't quite seem to get out of my mind," Hannah said as she came back, echoing Tim's own sentiments about a very different topic. "I get why Sizer's involved with Freedom's Light. He's probably dealing arms or something. I keep thinking about what you said, though, that Wells was a good kid and barely knew the uncle. I mean, maybe his parents are right and maybe they're not. But his CO wouldn't be wrong. His evaluations wouldn't have been wrong. Not that he couldn't have, I don't know, faked out his superiors, but…I don't think he did. These are guys who have been doing this a long time. They would have recognized something out of place. So why did Wells join?"

"Money?"

"No. I've been through his financials a thousand times. There's nothing there that indicates he was in any trouble or was hiding anything. The only thing unusual is the deposits. He had no access to high-level information and was an average officer. It doesn't add up. He has zero motivation to join his uncle."

"I know. But I don't have any answers, either." Hannah shrugged.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure we can figure it out. Just not now, because my body is screaming for sleep." McGee could imagine Hannah screaming too, but sleep wasn't the name of the game. "Good night, Tim," Hannah was saying.

"Oh, good night."

"Try not to shoot everything that goes bump." McGee laughed. Hannah slipped into his bedroom, supremely uncomfortable about sleeping in the agent's bed. She had noticed the stacks of computer and video games, plus all of the expensive—and from what she could tell—home-modified systems that went with them. She did love a computer geek, there was no question about that. And Tim…well, Tim had a lot of potential. But wanting to have coffee with a guy was not the same thing as sleeping in his bed two days after you met him because you were in his protective custody. Not by a long shot.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Fair warning: it's a long chapter. It has a ton of information to impart, so hang in there!

* * *

><p>After only a few hours of blissful sleep, Hannah awoke to find herself quite thirsty. She slowly got out of bed and limped to the bathroom, having contorted herself into another strange sleeping position. No water glass there. Who doesn't have a water glass in the bathroom? She realized she was going to have to sneak into the kitchen to find one without somehow waking Tim up. Well, she was an NCIS agent, after all: how hard could it be?<p>

Hannah stole into the living room, taking care not to creak floorboards or upset any furniture. When she reached the small kitchen—and it was no easy task, given that she'd never been in this place before and it was dark as a tomb—she gingerly began to open cupboards in search of some kind of cup. Two tries later and she had an NCIS mug. She didn't dare run the water so close to where Tim was sleeping, so she tried to make her way back to the bathroom. Before she'd gone more than a few steps, she heard a light knock on the door. At this hour? When she'd first woken up, a glance at the clock told her it was nearly four. Immediately suspicious and wishing she'd brought her gun out with her, Hannah carefully stepped toward the door, alert for any traps. She relaxed, however, when she saw a fish-eye view of DiNozzo trying to peer in at her through the tiny peephole.

"What are you doing here?" she hissed as she slowly opened the door. DiNozzo did a once-over that was surprised, comforting and creepy all at the same time.

"Couldn't sleep. Thought I'd wake McGee up. Guess I woke both of you up," he said, giving Hannah another up-and-down.

"Oh, grow up, Tony." Another voice broke into the conversation.

"What are we whispering about?" McGee. Hannah glanced over at her side and flipped the switch she found there. Instantly she regretted it as it made her blinder than a bat. McGee sighed in pain, also reacting to the bright light.

"Tony was just being a jerk, that's what. So nothing out of the ordinary, really."

"Hey, I'm not the one sharing pajamas."

"Who said anything about sharing?"

"Well, unless you now wear a…" Tony flipped Hannah around and checked her t-shirt tag, "…men's large and boxers with, what is that, a feather?"

"It's a quill and ink," McGee mumbled. Hannah glanced down at the boxers and thought they were cute. She would never, not in a million years, admit this in front of Tony, but she still liked them.

"Besides, your clothes are all evidence. So it was either borrow some pajamas or go naked." Hannah had the distinct and disturbing feeling that Tony was picturing that very scenario in his head.

"Oh, grow up," she said, Gibbs-slapping him on the head.

"Hey!" he complained. "There is only one person allowed to do that and he is not present."

"Look, Probie, I can head-slap you any time I feel like it, if I think it's going to bring you back into line."

"Probie?" McGee asked in disbelief, staring at Tony.

"Yeah, Probie. Tony was my probie. Didn't he ever tell you?"

"No, he didn't," McGee said while a truly depraved grin spread across his face. Hannah glared at DiNozzo, then shook her head.

"Am I going to have to stand in this hallway all night or can we please conduct some business inside the apartment?" Tony asked, trying desperately to move on to a new topic.

"Whatever you say…Probie," McGee replied, then stepped aside so his fellow agent could enter the room.

"Hey, Magoo, I wouldn't go calling people names if I were you," DiNozzo replied.

"What do you want, DiNozzo?" Hannah's voice interrupted.

"I've been thinking about the case."

"The case you're not supposed to be investigating?" Tony shot Hannah a look. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Gibbs."

"Yeah, that one. Something isn't right. I got the email with Wells' correspondence. Why would he join that group?"

"Tim and I just happened to be discussing that, actually. We were trying to figure out what changed his mind." DiNozzo helped himself to an armchair, while Hannah and McGee were forced to share the couch. Hannah grabbed the laptop off the coffee table.

"You know, there's something odd about Wells' financial statements. I couldn't put my finger on it before but I think I may have more information. He never used the deposits he received for anything. They just sat there in a plain-old personal checking account. He didn't even open a separate account for them."

"Right, because terrorists never make stupid mistakes, and there's no way he was just holding the money until he was ordered to use it," Tony pointed out.

"Right before Wells died, he made one huge withdrawal. We assumed it went to funding terrorist activities, but he took the money out in the form of a cashier's check. How many terrorists are stupid enough to withdraw money in easily traceable funds? Tim? Did you ever follow this?"

"I never noticed," the agent admitted. "I was sidetracked by the deposit itself."

"Why didn't you notice it, Agent CPA?" Tony asked Hannah. She shrugged.

"I didn't know. The bank statement won't list how the funds were withdrawn, so I naturally assumed cash—standard operating procedure. The check must have cleared on the other end though, because we now have a check image." Hannah punched a few keys and brought up the grainy reproduction. "It's a bank check issued in the amount of $120,000, so roughly half of everything Wells received." She squinted at the terrible check image. "I can't make out who Wells issued the check to, so I'll make a call to the bank later and find out who cashed it."

"Assuming the funds weren't used for terrorism, what were they used for?" McGee asked thoughtfully.

"Could be anything. Checks are as liquid as cash. We can't know anything until we find out where that money went. In the meantime, boys, I'm going back to bed. I have the feeling we're going to have our work cut out for us tomorrow. Or today, rather." Hannah shut the notebook with a snap and started toward Tim's bedroom. "Oh, and DiProbie, don't ever be ashamed of humble beginnings. I, after all, started out not much better than you and I had a much harsher teacher…" she said, closing the door with a laugh.

"DiProbie?" McGee asked, settling back into the couch, the depravity reappearing across his face. "I really must thank Hannah some day."

* * *

><p>When Tim awoke the next morning, the only thing he knew was that he was going to be late for work. He quickly threw on some clothes, really hoping they weren't the ones from yesterday and hopped in his car. Thanking his lucky stars and everything in between that he had been able to purchase an ultra-sporty and über-fast model, he only managed to be a few minutes late, even with traffic. That said, as he was not usually late like DiNozzo, his presence was missed.<p>

"Glad you could join us, McGee," Gibbs greeted him dryly.

"Sorry, boss. Traffic." Gibbs nodded but didn't take his eyes off his computer screen.

"Didja leave Hannah in it?" Tim's heart sank into his stomach as he realized his charge had not made the trip with him and was probably still back at his apartment, sleeping. He immediately pulled out his phone but Gibbs stopped him.

"She's up with the director."

"I know I was supposed to be on protective detail, but I don't know that going to the director is really warranted," McGee said, his panic evident.

"It's not about you." Tim relaxed.

"Oh."

"It's about the case. Something about a new piece of evidence." Gibbs walked over to McGee's desk.

"Oh. _Oh._"

"Yeah, McGee. When were you going to inform me of a new development? When you decided to stroll in?" Gibbs was angry now and McGee had only been there five minutes. Late.

"I, I, Hannah said she was going to call the bank today, boss. I didn't think she was in yet."

"No, because you didn't bring her."

"Look, Boss, I'm really sorry. We were up so late last night and for some reason my alarm didn't go off…" McGee trailed off as he noticed his boss's face. "And you don't care about any of that, so I'm going to stop saying it. We found a connection between Wells and his uncle's terrorist group, but we're not really sure if it's good or bad yet. I guess Hannah was going to call the bank and verify some information–"

"You guess?" Gibbs interrupted. "You're going to let Gray do your work for you?"

"No, Boss, that's not what I meant."

"I hope you meant _you_ were going to call the bank."

"Yes. That's exactly what I meant." Gibbs walked back to his desk and sat down hard. McGee immediately pulled up the check image from the previous night and studied it, trying to learn the name of the bank, but the image was so distorted he was having trouble reading much of anything.

"Always check the MICR line, Tim, it's your best bet," Hannah's voice said suddenly. McGee nearly jumped three feet out of his chair.

"Please don't do that," he said quietly. "MICR line?"

"The numbers on the bottom. Financial institution, account number and check number," she said, pointing to each. McGee noticed that the numbers were clearer than the rest of the image. "I called earlier, apparently they have a check scanner that needs replacing." She turned to her former boss. "Coffee? My treat." It was an offer she knew Gibbs would not possibly refuse.

Once they were safely away from the reach of the executive office (Hannah having left the director yelling into the phone at some lackey over at Justice), Gibbs waited until his former agent was ready to impart the new information he wanted, even going so far as to pick a choice bench under a shady tree.

"I think Wells was a double agent," she said. "He was working with Freedom's Light but only for information. That check we found—it was deposited into the account of a local charity for Iraq War widows and their families. The charity is legit, so we figure it was pretty likely that Wells was going to give the rest of the money away, too. Bashir must have found out that his nephew was not on the up-and-up and ordered Sizer to kill him. Or Sizer found out and took the initiative."

"It was Bashir." Hannah looked surprised at Gibbs.

"How do you know?"

"Apparently, Leon wasn't getting very far with Chen, so he let me take a crack at him. Broke this morning."

"So Chen confirmed everything we've already suspected."

"He confirmed Sizer was in with Freedom's Light through Bashir's express invitation."

"For arms dealing," Hannah said slowly, putting two and two together.

"And intel."

"It still doesn't explain where Freedom's Light is getting their money," Hannah said, frustrated. "I mean, Sizer's certainly not doing this for free—he bought a brand new Mercedes six months ago with money he received for services rendered. Nobody ever knew about this group until the bureaucrat bombing. Wells was receiving money long before, but that doesn't mean anything, necessarily. It could just be that they were preparing for something that only now went down…" Hannah frowned as she thought it through. "Where's Chen?" she asked suddenly.

"In jail." Hannah tossed her coffee cup into the trash and left Gibbs quite abruptly. She broke into a run and did not stop until she reached the elevators inside the building. She punched the up button several times in an attempt to make the elevator reach her faster. Once on, she rudely ignored all other elevator calls and immediately shut the doors on her way up. She burst into the director's outer office and brushed past his assistant, who vainly tried to inform her she couldn't just walk into the director's office any time she pleased. Director Vance ended his phone call as Hannah strode in.

"I need to question Chen," she demanded. Vance waved his assistant off before he answered her.

"We've discussed this, Gray. Out of the question."

"Director, if I don't question Chen, we could miss vital information important to the David case."

"The David case? What does Chen have to do with that?"

"I know you think I'm wrong on this one, sir, but I'm sure that Wells and the David bombing are connected. Chen is my chance to prove it."

"If Sizer even so much as hears a whisper about you questioning Chen–"

"He already knows I'm involved. He tried to blow up our meeting. With all due respect, sir, the cat's out of the bag."

"Gray, there is not one shred of evidence to connect Sizer and Chen with the David case."

"I think I can find some, Director, if you just give me a chance." The director sighed.

"I will question Chen. What do you need?"

"No, sir, I'm sorry, that's not good enough. I have to do this." Director Vance studied Hannah.

"Fine. But you can bet I'll be on the other side of that glass."

"Of course, sir."

"I'll arrange for prisoner transport and let you know when Chen gets here." Hannah smiled briefly in thanks, then rushed out of the room and back to the bullpen.

"DiNozzo!" she said forcefully. "You using that?" she asked, pointing at his computer.

"Well, yeah, but…"

"Now you're not," she said, twirling him out of his desk chair and commandeering the desktop.

"Hannah, you can't just–" Tony stopped at her expression. "It's all yours." Hannah began typing furiously, her 85-words-per-minute a clear advantage for whatever was going on in her head. DiNozzo thought she might have lost her mind.

"What's she…?" McGee started, indicating Hannah. Tony just held up his hands and instructed McGee not to bother her. Hannah heard nor saw any of this.

After about an hour of non-stop typing and a few phone calls, Hannah received word that Chen was waiting for her in Interrogation 1. She smiled, then quickly made her way down. Director Vance stopped her before she could enter the room.

"Anything suspicious and I'm pulling you," he warned.

"Yes, sir." The director gave her one last look, then walked into the observation area. Hannah nonchalantly entered the room with Chen.

"Well, well, well," he said, a smug smile plastering his face. "Little Hannah Gray. Here to give support to an old teammate?" Hannah said nothing and continued flipping through a decently large file in front of her. Two minutes passed in near silence, except for the swish of the papers in the file. "You know, I know you were brought up in this world by Gibbs but I would have expected even he might have taught you some manners," Chen goaded.

"How's your little girl, Chen? Good? Healthy?" Hannah asked abruptly, a smile on her face. "She's, what, must be four by now?" He nodded. "Cute age." She plunked down two photos from the folder. "Just like these two," she said, nodding at them. "Jenna and Ellie Samson. Both four years old. Fraternal twins, actually." Hannah could see Chen cringing slightly at the blood on their faces. "They were in the coffee shop you decided should be razed. Ellie got trapped under a piece of debris that managed to cut off most of her air supply for nearly ten minutes. She survived, the rescue team was able to save her, but the doctors say she'll never grow up. She'll always be four years old for the rest of her life. Her sister Jenna has constant nightmares and won't leave the house. In fact, she can't even be left alone for ten seconds before she starts screaming about the roof falling down. But your daughter's just fine, right? I bet she's smart, probably one of the top in her class. Too bad about Jenna and Ellie, though," Hannah pushed, sliding the photos a little closer to Chen. He stiffened slightly. Hannah leaned back in the chair.

"Or those Petty Officers, Schumacher and Jeffries, that didn't quite make it out, because they were trying to make sure others were safe. Takes a certain kind of bravery, you know? Thinking of others before yourself. Yeah, Chen, I've got their pictures too." Hannah carefully laid the gruesome photos next to those of the little girls.

"What do you want, Hannah?" Chen asked angrily.

"To know why," she said coolly. "Why Jenna and Ellie had their lives ruined, and why Schumacher and Jeffries can no longer serve their country. What have you accomplished by taking the lives of two good officers or essentially taking the lives of two little girls you'd never even seen before?"

"For all you know, I had nothing to do with that."

"I know everything, Chen. _Everything_. Well, that's not quite accurate, now is it? There's one thing I don't know, and you know I don't know it. It's the only thing that keeps that shit-eating grin on your face and we both know it."

"You'll never get the answer from me."

"_Where is he, Chen?_" Hannah asked dangerously. "Where's Sizer? Believe me, I'll find him even if you don't tell me, but it's really more expedient if I try my luck with you first." Chen said nothing. "You know, it's really going to break your wife's heart when she hears she married a murderer. And what about that little girl of yours? Kiki? What's she going to think when Daddy spends the rest of his life behind bars for nearly killing two girls that might have been her friends?"

"Leave Christine and Kiki out of this," Chen said. "They have nothing to do with any of this."

"No, Chen, but you do, and they're going to wonder what happened to you after you disappear forever and rot in jail." Again, Chen said nothing. "Ok, fine. Then tell me what you know about bombing a federal agent's home last week. An NCIS agent, no less. One of your fellows, Chen. I don't have a picture for you, this time, but I know you know what I'm talking about." Agent Chen's face had turned from anger to confusion.

"We never did that," he said.

"Oh? So you're admitting you did bomb _something_, just not that? You might as well. I know you were at that coffee shop. The homeless men at the far end of the wall, right? You see, your best bet in that situation is to flee the scene, Chen. Don't stick around and play good citizen by talking to the police. They remembered you and it wasn't too hard to put two and two together."

"You've got no proof," he taunted.

"No? Well, we have the bomb –or what's left of it, anyway. And our dear little lab tech, the girl's really a genius with explosives, found your fingerprint on the timer. Yours, Chen. Not to mention the little matter of you breaking into my hotel room, as well as that delightful little Glock 17 my colleagues found on you. So, yes, we know it was you anyway. We know you're in league with Sizer and Freedom's Light. And you're going to tell me where Sizer is, Chen, so help me God. Because if you don't, maybe…just maybe, you'll never see little Kiki again. She'll grow up knowing her Daddy's a murderer. But let me offer you a light at the end of the tunnel: tell me where I can find Sizer and I'll convince Justice that you really only deserve manslaughter. How a family man like you couldn't bear to hurt little Jenna and Ellie, and how a man like you who swore to protect the Navy really can't be responsible for the deaths of two Navy officers." Chen fixed his mouth into a hard line but still said nothing. "You have five seconds," Hannah cautioned, standing up swiftly and raising her gun. "Five…four…three…" she pulled back the slide to cock the gun, "…two…o–"

"3255 N Street Northwest," Chen rushed out. Hannah switched on the safety, automatically releasing the slide.

"There, now, that wasn't so hard, was it?" she asked calmly. The director burst into the interrogation room not a nanosecond later.

"Enough!" Vance motioned to the security officer he had with him. "Get Chen back to jail. Gray, you're with me." Hannah had the distinct feeling she might lose her badge for this.

"Wait, Director," Chen said, his cuffed hands trembling a little. "I don't know anything about another bomb, Gray. Whoever did the NCIS agent, it wasn't us." Hannah knew enough about interrogation—and had learned plenty from Gibbs—to know that Chen wasn't lying. Hannah nodded in Chen's direction, then silently followed the director back to his office.

"What the hell was that?" he asked, angrier than she'd ever seen him.

"I'm sorry, sir. I lost my temper."

"The hell you did. You planned that from the word go."

"Director, I'm sorry if you don't believe me, but I didn't plan anything when I went in to interrogate Chen other than getting the truth." She gave her apology simply, thinking that an ostentatious display would have made her employer angrier than he already was.

"I should have your badge for this, Gray," the director stated.

"Sir, if you think that my actions make me an unworthy NCIS agent, then by all means, I will not stop you from taking that responsibility away from me." Vance shook his head.

"What you did in there is not worthy of this badge, Agent Gray. But I know you're a better agent than that. So if you ever pull another stunt like this, I will relieve you of that badge and I will not think twice about it. Clear?"

"Absolutely, sir."

"Then go."

Hannah didn't need to be told twice.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony DiNozzo loved a good mystery, there was no question. So when the enigma of Hannah slumping over in Ziva's desk chair with exhaustion after telling Gibbs the director wanted to see him and was in a foul mood, well, Tony had to get to the bottom of it.

"What happened?" he asked Hannah. She did not respond immediately and he thought she might have fallen asleep. Grabbing a pen from the cup on his desk, he stealthily made his way over to her side and gave her a hard jab in the shoulder.

"DiNozzo," she said without moving, "do that again and I'll shoot you."

"Then what happened?"

"I interrogated Chen. He admitted the DC Beans bombing. He didn't know anything about Agent David."

"Since when is this case related to Agent David?" Tony asked warily.

"Since forever, DiNozzo."

"Yeah, but the explosion…" Hannah glanced up at Tony, shushing him with her eyes. "Uh, the explosion that I don't know about, that is…"

"Just shut up, DiNozzo. I'm in deep enough already. I don't need to add you three knowing too much about things you're not supposed to know anything about." Hannah sat up suddenly. "That son-of-a…" she said as she brought up Google Maps. She typed in the address that Chen had given her and did a street view.

"Gray," Gibbs broke in, an edge to his voice. "You pull crap like that again and Leon won't have to take your badge, I'll do it for him."

"Yes, Boss." She was in no mood to argue. Again, Tony's curiosity was piqued. "Shut up, DiNozzo," Hannah said before he could ask. "I know where Sizer is."

"Yeah? How'd you get that information, Gray?" Hannah ignored her boss' snide remark.

"He's in Georgetown," she continued. "Bastard's in _my old place_."

* * *

><p>McGee and Hannah were on the third day of the stakeout across the street from Sizer's headquarters. They alternated 12-hour shifts with Gibbs and DiNozzo, something Tony hadn't been very happy about—he had grumbled that stakeouts were more fun with McGee than Gibbs. Hannah had pointed out that Sizer expected her to be at Gibbs' side, given that he would assume her old boss would want to keep a close eye on her.<p>

Not much had happened. He'd left a few times and come back, but the team was waiting for a concrete piece of evidence to tie him either to Wells' death or one of his operations with Chen. If they were lucky, they'd be able to throw in his association to Freedom's Light, but nothing had come up with that lead so far. So they waited. In the meantime, Hannah tried to get to know Tim. They'd had a lot of fun conversations: she confessed that she was quite the computer geek herself and Tim had admitted that he was Thom E. Gemcity. Hannah hadn't read the books but promised to on her return to New York. It turned out that she and Tim had quite a lot in common. Plus, he was kind of adorable.

"So, exactly how long have you been working on Sizer?" Tim asked, returning to the topic at hand when day three rolled around.

"Almost two years. He's been doing this probably since he went to San Diego. He met up with Chen there, and then New York opened and he asked me to come on board. Sheppard asked me to do a little digging and here we are."

"Wait…you left DC how long ago?"

"Eight years."

"New York's only been open for four."

"I was abroad the first four years. Different missions and stuff. I mostly worked out of Europe but occasionally I'd do something in the Middle East. I lived in London for most of the four years I was there. I spent six months in Italy when I first got there."

"So how'd you get to know Sizer?"

"We did an op together in Egypt. It was near the end of my time abroad, and with everything that was going on with Wall Street and whatnot, the powers that be decided to open up a specialized branch in the New York field office concerned primarily with economic crimes. Sizer was going to run it and he asked me to join him. They wanted someone with field agent experience and an accounting background, and here I was, ready-made." Hannah turned the conversation to other topics; it was a little painful to talk about Sizer, as he'd been her friend. She and Tim chatted a little longer, then fell into an easy silence while they watched the townhouse across the street.

"You know, I still can't get those deposits out of my head," Hannah commented later. "They're bugging me. If Wells got them from Freedom's Light, he obviously didn't use them for anything. But Chen didn't know anything about the bombing at Agent David's. So Chen's not connected but Sizer is. If Wells was supposed to be holding the money, what was he holding it for? He wasn't giving any to Sizer's activities."

"Was he supposed to and didn't?" Tim wondered.

"I doubt it. They would have acted much more quickly. They wouldn't have let it build for two years. So where's the money coming from for the other bombings? Furthermore, where is Freedom's Light getting it?" Before anyone could answer the question, Hannah's phone rang.

"Gray," she said.

"Hannah! You are going to love me forever."

"Abs, I already love you to death. You got something for me?"

"I found a partial. It's not much, but it had enough points to make a match. It's Sizer's." Hannah did a silent fist pump at this news.

"Where did you find it?"

"Remember that soda can that was all crushed? Well, I uncrushed it."

"Abby, you are the greatest. The greatest. Before I go, remind me that I owe you something awesome."

"Oh, I will." Hannah flipped her phone shut and gave Tim a huge grin.

"We're going in," she said softly. "Abby found Sizer's partial on the soda can." Tim smiled and began to gather his gear. "Wait," Hannah stopped him. "I've got a better idea."

* * *

><p>Tom Sizer was a very clever man. So clever, in fact, that he'd become one of the Marine Corps' foremost weapons experts before he'd even reached the age of forty. Now, nearing the twilight of his career, he'd added a few more things that he was terribly clever at: arms and intelligence dealing, and pulling a fast one on Uncle Sam. The trouble was, Tom knew how clever he was. It made him careless at times, though he'd been lucky so far. As he strolled down the Georgetown street, he was about to realize that no matter how clever he was, imprudence would always trump.<p>

"Evening, sir," a young woman's voice greeted him. Tom turned around to see his colleague and friend, Hannah Gray.

"Hannah," he said smoothly.

"Out for a little walk?"

"I needed some fresh air."

"Well, take a deep breath. It's the last you'll have for a long time. You're under arrest for the murder of Petty Officer Nicholas Wells. Because of this, you have the right to remain silent." Hannah got no further than this before Tom pulled out his knife and attempted to stab her. Hannah blocked him, expecting some kind of attack, and was able to get hold of Tom's wrist and spin him around, her thumb exerting an excruciating pressure. Another young agent stepped out of the shadows, his gun raised and ready to fire. Tom had not even noticed him and he mentally chided himself for not being more careful.

"As, I was saying, then. You have the right to remain silent…"


	11. Chapter 11

Hannah paced around the squad room. Even though she knew she would never be allowed within fifty feet of that interrogation room, she felt restless. She'd worked for so long on this case and she wanted to question him. She wanted to use every technique in her book to get the truth from him, to slap the smugness right off his face. So naturally, the director wouldn't let her anywhere near it. The closest she was allowed to get was observation.

"Come on, you guys!" she chided Tony and Tim as they approached her.

"Tony wanted popcorn," McGee accused, rolling his eyes.

"Hey. It's going to be a great show, and what's a great show without popcorn?" Tony defended the bowl in his hands.

"Let's just go," Hannah said, power-walking to observation. Tim kept up easily but DiNozzo had a hard time keeping the overly full bowl from becoming overly spilled. They made it to observation just as Gibbs was sitting down with Sizer.

He sat there much like Hannah sat there with Chen, just flipping through a file and waiting for Sizer to make the first move.

"It's been a long time, Jethro," he said. Jethro did not respond; just _flip_, _flip_, _flip_. When he was done with the file, he took out his phone and made a call so quiet that Sizer couldn't hear it from across the small table. Neither said anything for about thirty seconds until Tom couldn't bear it anymore. "More files?" he asked. Gibbs said nothing, only stared at Sizer. Thirty more seconds went by, without even the ticking of the clock to help Tom focus on anything but Jethro's cold eyes. Another fifteen.

Finally, a quiet knock on the door broke in. Gibbs did not immediately answer it but waited another two or three seconds, still staring. He opened the door only slightly and Agent Sizer couldn't see anything except his old friend. It appeared as though only information had been exchanged as Jethro sat down, until he set a can of soda in the middle of the table. He resumed the stare and more time passed.

"Not thirsty?" Sizer asked, almost unable to help himself from the sarcastic remark. Gibbs still said nothing and pushed the can toward Tom. Sizer wouldn't have touched it with a ten foot pole.

"It's for you," Gibbs said.

"I'm not thirsty, myself."

"Had enough since you murdered Wells?" Now it's was Sizer's turn to take his time in answering.

"Who's Wells?"

"He was a Petty Officer, Tom. Good serviceman. Found dead in Rock Creek Park with a can of soda exactly like this one next to him. Well, not exactly the same. The one we found was empty and crushed." A smirk crept across Agent Sizer's face.

"Litter is such a problem these days."

"It also had your fingerprint on it." Gibbs had said it simply but it was enough to instantly wipe the hideous smile off of Sizer's mug. "We also found traces of Petty Officer Wells' blood on a pair of pants you had hanging in a closet. Seems to me you've got a lot of connections to a guy you don't know." Agent Sizer appraised his interrogator before responding.

"You might as well know the truth, Jethro. I was investigating Wells on a possible terrorism charge. He had been communicating with a cell from Lebanon. We're not entirely sure what his role with the organization was yet, but we're getting there."

"So how'd your empty soda can end up next to Wells' dead body?"

"I have no idea. It's probably planted."

"A lot's happened since you were arrested, Tom. We found your little hidey-hole. Know what else we found? Glass syringes with your prints. They had traces of hydrochloric acid on them, the same hydrochloric acid that was used to murder Wells by injecting it into his bloodstream. Your method. Ya had Wells' blood on your pants. None of this can be explained by an investigation." Agent Sizer let out a long sigh.

"Alright, Jethro, you leave me no choice: you're not going to like hearing this, but it wasn't just Wells I was investigating; it was Hannah Gray, too. We think she has ties to the same organization as Wells, the terrorists."

"LIKE HELL!" Gibbs roared, slamming his hands on the table and knocking his chair over with the force of standing up. Even the three in observation jumped a little. "You know damn well there's not a bit of truth in it. It's you, Tom, it's always been you, and your lies are not going to save you!" Former Marine or not, Tom Sizer was, at this moment, afraid of Jethro Gibbs. Sure, he'd seen Gibbs angry, even furious, but the light in his friend's eyes looked suspiciously like the flames of hell.

"Get up, Marine," Gibbs ordered, shoving the table aside. Sizer did as he was told, though he outranked his interrogator. "You have committed treason against your country. You've killed a good naval officer, you've killed innocent civilians. You are trying to drag a damn good NCIS agent's name through the mud. All of these things you've done for your own personal gain." Gibbs took a few steps forward with each of these accusations; Sizer had no choice but to take a few steps back. "I don't care if we get a confession from you or not, Tom, because I will take you down for each and every single one of them. If it takes me from now until Judgment I will take. You. Down." Agent Sizer was up against the wall now and had nowhere to hide from Gibbs's steely eyes.

Tom had heard enough. He knew what Hannah had done to Chen and he had not the slightest doubt that Jethro would do the same, but more likely much worse.

"Gibbs, please," he pleaded. "Sit down. I'll tell you what you want to know. If you get me a deal." Gibbs would not even dignify the request with a response. He glared at Sizer, his face reading a loud and clear no. "I'm sorry. That's the only way I'll tell you anything. I'm not asking for much."

"You're not in a position to be asking anything. I have enough evidence to get you put away for life under the PATRIOT Act alone. Add treason into that and you're probably looking at a death sentence. There's no reason why I shouldn't do any of these things." Gibbs had restored the table and his chair by this point and sat down.

"So what reason do I have to give you what you want, Jethro? Why should I make your job any easier?"

"Because, Tom," Gibbs said, returning to his calm demeanor, "you've got no way out. You're in a corner and the best you can hope for is that telling me what you know will look good to a federal prosecutor. Cooperation is the one card you've got left. And you know it." Agent Sizer did know it. He knew it only too well, as it had once been his task to bring down the terrorists and spies and murderers and all the rest.

"At least let me tell you what I want."

"Tell me what you know and I'll see if it's worth honoring a request from a traitor." Sizer sighed again, knowing that the end to all of this was inevitable.

"My company, Security Solutions, LLC, is really a front for arms and intel dealing. We do business all over the world but our best clients lately have been a small group called Freedom's Light. My main contact is their leader, Bashir Moussalem. Petty Officer Wells is his nephew. Wells had nothing to do with the group; Bashir figured out pretty quickly that he was just looking for information to take back to the authorities. He planned to send Wells money, telling him that he'd need to hold it for a big op in the States, and then tip off the FBI that Wells was holding it for a terrorist group. When that didn't work, he ordered me to either kill Wells or be killed myself."

"So why murder Wells in a method you're known for? You've written a book on the subject, for Pete's sake, didn't you think people would question that?"

"I never counted on being caught."

"How much do you know about Freedom's Lights' operation?"

"I'm not sure. Quite a bit, I think. Bashir never trusted me fully, I was a high-ranking American military officer. But he saw, I think, that I was very useful."

"For weapons and intel."

"Yes."

"Where are they getting funding from?"

"I'm not sure. They had a man who basically served as the accountant, but I never saw any of that. He used to be part of the Israeli government, I think." Gibbs frowned at this answer, not just because he hadn't been expecting it.

"Disenfranchised with working for peace?"

"I really don't know. I met him a few times, that was it."

"Do you have a name?"

"Hadar Abboud."

The rest of the interrogation continued much in the same way, with Gibbs asking occasional questions and Sizer detailing his involvement with the terrorist group. He admitted the bombing at DC Beans and that it had been intended to kill Hannah, who was getting too close to the truth. It took both McGee and Tony to restrain her from physically going into the interrogation room and dealing with Sizer herself. She left at that point, needing to clear her head.

Hannah went back to the squad room and sat at Tony's desk. She had been right all along and that, she had to admit, was vindicating. She was about to start a half-hearted search on Hadar Abboud when the phone rang. She answered, then promised to relay the message from the switchboard operator. Quickly clearing her search, she ran back to observation.

"Hannah, really, I don't think McGee and I want to continue trying to keep you from killing Sizer. Once was enough. Take a walk or something," Tony said firmly.

"No, DiNozzo, that's not why I came back. Switchboard called. Ziva's awake."


	12. Chapter 12

Tony repeatedly punched the elevator call button as if his life depended on it. "DiNozzo!" Hannah reprimanded. He gave her a look, as if to say _What? Elevator's too damn slow_. "It'll get here when it gets here," Hannah advised. Though the thirty seconds it took passed too slowly for Tony's liking, the elevator did indeed arrive. It stopped on nearly every floor on the way up, however, causing DiNozzo to remark that this particular car must have held a grudge against him. McGee rolled his eyes and Hannah patted him on the shoulder, she hoped in a reassuring manner. Agent Dudley Do-Right was still standing watch at Ziva's door.

"Don't you ever go home, Agent Do-Right?"

"Just got here, Agent DiNozzo."

"Aw, how sweet, you remembered. You're going to let us in?"

"Sure. Just don't stay long, doc's orders."

The trio quietly entered the dark room, lit only with the fluorescent light above Ziva's bed. "Tony?" she asked hoarsely, sounding slightly puzzled.

"Ziva."

"McGee!" She sounded more excited now. Ziva looked at Hannah, clearly unable to place her.

"Agent Hannah Gray," she introduced herself.

"She worked with Gibbs a long time ago," McGee explained. Ziva nodded slightly. She, Tony and McGee exchanged how-are-yous and other pleasantries, but Hannah could see they were chomping at the bit to ask her what they came to ask. Finally, a lull came in the conversation, a lull in which Ziva caught both Tony and Tim looking at her curiously.

"What?" she asked. The two looked at one another. She'd just gotten out of a coma, for heaven's sake. "You want to know what happened."

"Only if you're ready," McGee said.

"I am not a doll, McGee. I won't break." It comforted Tim to hear Ziva's words of strength but they still contradicted every single bruise and bump on her body, not to mention the broken leg. "I don't know, exactly. I was at home, getting ready for bed and then suddenly, the wall exploded."

"Do you know who lived next door?" Tony asked.

"No, I never met anyone there." Both agents knew that Ziva would never have introduced herself. She could be friendly, but only if she had to. Neighborly affection was not a had to kind of situation.

"Who's Hadar Abboud?" Hannah asked suddenly. Ziva was surprised at the question.

"He…was a Mossad agent," she explained, looking back and forth between DiNozzo and McGee. "He disappeared a few years ago, just after a mission in Senegal. He's probably dead."

"Did you know him?"

"Only enough to say hello if I passed him in the hall." Hannah nodded but said nothing further. Ziva wanted to know what was going on, but when neither Tony nor McGee said anything, she let it drop. A knock came at the door, then Agent Do-Right poked his head in to tell the group time was up. Hannah said goodbye quickly, then waited in the hall for Tony and Tim. They did not take long either, but did promise to return soon. The drive back to the Navy yard was quiet, each lost in thought.

* * *

><p>"What've ya got?" Gibbs asked as the three returned to the bullpen.<p>

"Ziva's out of the coma," DiNozzo replied. Gibbs looked up but said nothing about it. "Anything else?"

"I'm working on the Hadar Abboud lead," Hannah said.

"DiNozzo, McGee. Go back to Ziva's building. Get the landlord and find out who lived in that apartment next door. I know he said it was empty but someone had to live there at some point." They left to follow Gibbs' orders. Hannah borrowed Tony's desk and restarted her search on Abboud. She didn't like the idea of his having been Mossad and she especially didn't like the idea of a disappearance, especially because they had quite a bit of evidence that he was definitely not missing and certainly not dead. Under the radar for a Mossad-trained terrorist was going to be a huge problem. Only by all accounts, he was dead. No driver's license, no record of ever having been out of Israel, no anything. He might not even have existed, other than Sizer claimed to have met him and Ziva apparently was acquainted. If he'd ever been to the U.S., it was under an assumed name. Worse still.

"Sizer wants to talk to you," Gibbs said, breaking into Hannah's thoughts.

"Tell him to go to hell," she said without looking up.

"I did. Thought I'd make sure that was the right response." Hannah did look at her former boss at this.

"Why would I want to talk to a man who tried to kill me on purpose?"

"Dunno." Gibbs was smiling though, and it looked like he might even add an "Atta girl!" Hannah didn't need it—she knew well enough what he'd meant. "Anything on Abboud?" She leaned back in the desk chair and rubbed her eyes.

"No. It's like the guy didn't even exist. I have no idea where to look. I can't very well call up Mossad and ask them to verify the status of one of their agents."

"No, _you _can't."

"No, we…oh." She finally realized what Gibbs meant and excused herself. She walked slowly up the stairs to the executive office, fully prepared to be turned away. "I'll let him know you're here," was his assistant's reply, giving Hannah a small bit of hope. She tried not to listen as he announced her arrival, but she was delighted to learn that the director would see her. The assistant instructed her to enter the large office.

"Gray. I hope you've cooled down from the other day."

"Of course, sir."

"Then what can I do for you? I've been getting all your reports, I'm up to speed on the case."

"Then you'll know about Hadar Abboud."

"Met him once, actually. Director David seemed quite taken with him." The director paused. "And now that we know he's not actually dead, you want me to see if the Director David knows what he's up to."

"If we can produce Abboud, we can get Sizer and possibly all of Freedom's Light."

"This is a pretty big favor."

"I know, sir." The director nodded.

"I'll see what I can do."

"Thank you, director."

By the time Hannah returned to the squad room, DiNozzo and McGee had returned. Tony was leaning back in his chair with his legs propped up on the desk's corner. McGee was, as usual, preparing something for the plasma.

"Gray, you're just in time," Tony said.

"I do try to be punctual, Probie," she replied, smiling. She knew she hadn't been very nice to Tony since she'd been back but hey, stress doesn't make anyone very chipper. And with DiNozzo's special brand of irritating, it was a wonder all of his bones were still intact.

"Well, you're going to be glad you didn't miss this," Tim spoke up. Hannah smiled at him and parked at Ziva's desk. "But first, I need you to do a little checking on something, Ms. CPA." He handed Hannah a copy of a cancelled check. "The bank couldn't confirm where this originated, but I thought you might be able to."

"Why couldn't the bank confirm it?"

"The person we spoke with said that the originating institution had been withheld from the record." Hannah furrowed her brow, not liking the sound of it.

"Well, if you spoke with a teller, yeah, they're not going to be able to verify it, but–"

"We spoke with the bank's president," Tony said smugly. Hannah took the slip of paper from McGee and began typing on the computer. "But he seemed like he knew exactly where it came from and just wasn't telling us."

"It had to come from somewhere," Hannah declared. "You can't just make up a fake bank and account number, it'd never clear." She frowned at the information on the screen. "What is this even for? I don't recognize the payee—Virginia Realty Group?"

"They hold a lot of real estate," Tim said. "Mostly apartment buildings. One of their properties happens to be the building Ziva lives in."

"This…this is a rent payment, then," Hannah said, putting it together. "This must be from next door."

"Yep," Tim agreed, smiling. "Rent for this month, but the tenant moved out halfway through it, the building manager told us. Check the date."

"It's two weeks before the bombing. They must have moved out right before," Hannah said. Tim nodded. She didn't need to confirm with either agent that this meant they were a step closer to finding out who was behind all of this. "Well, this Robert Michaels, whoever he is, definitely got a free ride. This check is completely fake."

"It gets even better," Tony said. "Check this out." He pressed a button on the plasma's mouse control and a Virginia driver's license popped up. "This is Robert Michaels. According to his license, he's 81 years old, five-foot-eight and if the photo is to be believed, a little old white man." He pressed another button and an official-looking document replaced the license. "According to his death certificate, however, he's, well…dead. Since 2005." A new driver's license replaced the document. "This license is supposedly for the same Robert Michaels. You'll notice that the number is exactly the same, but the information is completely different. This Robert Michaels is 34 years old, six-foot-one and again, if the photo is to believed, a young man of Middle Eastern descent."

"That's a pretty neat magic trick," Hannah commented.

"Sure is."

"So Robert Michaels has suddenly turned into a completely different person and has started cashing fake checks, none of which the bank caught, I'm guessing because they miraculously all cleared. That sounds like fraud to me."

"Interesting," Tony said, standing up from his desk. "The bank's president assured us nothing was amiss. But you know, as Senior Field Agent, I just knew something was wrong when–"

"Cut the crap, DiNozzo. Get to your point," Hannah demanded.

"We brought him in for questioning. Thought you'd like to do the honors, since you'd know the most about it."

"Interrogation?"

"Conference room." Hannah grinned. "Well, DiNozzo, the chance you've been waiting for has finally arrived: we're going to get to play Good Cop, Crazy Cop." Tony grinned and led the way.

* * *

><p>"Mr. Daniels, sorry to have kept you waiting," Tony greeted the man graciously. "This is my colleague, Agent Gray." Hannah shook hands with the bank president. "Please, sit down," Tony continued.<p>

"I'm sorry to have to inform you of this, Mr. Daniels, but it appears your bank has been accepting some fraudulent checks," Hannah began. The man looked uncomfortable more than he did surprised, but then again, maybe he'd figured out that this was obviously about the check. "There's something that needs a little clarification, though. It's one thing for a check to bounce because of non-sufficient funds or an incorrect routing or account number, but this check didn't have that problem, even though it's clearly fake. Any idea why that might be?"

"I run a bank comprised of thirty-three different branches and you want me to tell you the specifics of a single check?" Mr. Daniels was getting a little too defensive a little too early, Hannah decided. She showed him the copy of the check.

"This routing number. Recognize it?"

"Yes. It's the routing number for Cardinal Bank."

"Your banks."

"Yes."

"Notice anything strange?" The bank president studied the paper for a few seconds, then shook his head. "Really? How about the fact that the account number appears to be a series of zeros? And I don't know about you but I certainly don't know of a single bank in the United States that has a valid account number like this."

"Look, Mr. Daniels," Tony interrupted. "We all know this check isn't real. We know it. But we're not trying to get you into any trouble. We just want to know where it came from." Daniels looked at Tony but said nothing. It was obvious to both the agents that he had something to come clean about and he was on the verge of doing so but needed a little extra persuasion.

"You don't have to tell us," Hannah took up where DiNozzo left off. "But know this: if you don't, I will find out anyway. I will question every single employee at every single one of your thirty-three branches if I have to. I will shut you down for business if I think it's necessary. I will go through every transaction you've got on your books. And if I find out that you've mishandled even one single dollar that's come through your door, it will mean a world of mess for you. I will have your federal charter pulled and I will ensure that you do not ever get a new one. But again, you don't have to tell us." Mr. Daniels looked at Hannah in horror, the kind where he couldn't decide if she'd lost her mind and was bluffing or lost her mind and would do everything she'd said, plus burn down all of the banks as an extra treat.

"I was told to put it through, no matter what," he said.

"By whom? You're the bank president. And for that matter, how'd you get it through the clearinghouse?"

"We didn't. It never got that far. We just treated it like the check had been a regular withdrawal and deducted it from the customer's account."

"This is a fake account, Daniels."

"The money to cover it was wired in from another location." Hannah sat back in her chair.

"Who told you to put this through?"

"We received the first check about a year ago. It was obviously fraudulent, so we rejected it. A few days later, some men in suits showed up and…convinced me it was in my best interest to put the check through as if nothing was wrong, and it would be covered. They assured me the money would be wired in before the next one was due to come out, and they had worked out a system where they could send money to the bank, how we were to note the transactions to make it look legitimate and no one would ever be the wiser."

"Who were these men?"

"I told you, I don't know. They never properly introduced themselves." Daniels' shifty eyes told another story, however.

"Oh, come on, Rick…can I call you Rick? You and I know that's not true," Tony said. Rick sighed.

"They said they had ties to a powerful government agency and that if I didn't do this for them, and if I didn't keep it a secret, the agency would come down hard on me. On my family. What was I supposed to do?" The correct answer, of course, was going to the authorities anyway, as Hannah and DiNozzo both knew.

"Which government? Ours?" Hannah asked.

"No. They sounded foreign, like Middle Easterners."

"Any specific nationality?"

"I don't know. They were speaking in a foreign language, it sounded like it might have been Hebrew. I was trying not to listen. They might have said something that sounded like Israel, but maybe that was just the word my ears picked up because I recognized it." Hannah gave another glance at Tony.

"Ok, Mr. Daniels. Do you have any records of the wires?"

"Not official ones."

"Unofficial, then."

"I have an originating institution but for all I know, that's fake too."

"Can you get me this information? We can take it from here."

"Am I in trouble?"

"Just get me the information and I'll make sure this doesn't happen to you anymore." Daniels sighed in relief, though Hannah technically hadn't said no. Tony and Hannah led the bank president back to the elevators and Tony escorted him to the entrance. Hannah went back to Ziva's desk, just in time for Gibbs' return.

"What've you got?" he asked automatically.

"We found out who was renting the apartment next to Ziva's," McGee informed him. "Guy's got an assumed name, so I'm trying to find out who he really is."

"I'm going to be tracing his rent payments pretty soon," Hannah added. "Apparently, he's been writing fake checks and, according to the bank president they were routed through, he received the money through illegal wire transfer and then was forced to clear them, possibly by Israeli government agents."

"Mossad?" Gibbs asked.

"I'm thinking Freedom's Light posing as government agents. They threatened him and his family if he didn't do what they asked. And really, it's a great idea. Mask where the money's coming from, make it look legit, federal inspectors won't notice there's a problem when they come to check out the bank's books."

"He's going to fax over the information," DiNozzo said to Hannah when he returned. "Should have it in the next hour or so."

The hour passed slowly. Hannah wanted to get right into this but even in the age of advanced technology, not everything was instantaneous. After exhausting all other busywork she was doing before the fax arrived, she finally had what she wanted. Before she dove in, however, she handmade one of her famous "Disturb and suffer the consequences" signs. DiNozzo knew them well and kept a wide berth, explaining to McGee that it really just wasn't worth it, no matter how urgent the matter seemed.

Three hours later, Hannah had her answer. The originating bank had not been a fake and she had been able to trace the money to a very interesting end. She took down her sign and immediately her three teammates surrounded her desk. They were careful to keep it quiet, as most of the agents had departed for the day and the ones that were still there clearly had work to do.

"Well?" Gibbs asked.

"Boss, I'd just like to say that this took so long because I was able to add a little bit more to our case. Not only did I trace the wire transfers to Cardinal Bank, I also managed to trace the original wire transfers to Nicholas Wells' account." McGee nearly jumped up and down with excitement.

"How'd you get around Switzerland?" he asked breathlessly.

"I'm getting there, Tim. Anyway. The wire transfers to Rick Daniels at Cardinal Bank come from an Israeli account tied to Hadar Abboud. Apparently, it was an account that he used while he was still alive, and after his 'death,' he never bothered to cancel it. The best part is that they have security footage of him coming in to make a deposit as recently as…wait for it…yesterday."

"They already know there's security footage?" Tim asked in disbelief.

"He's a bit of a high roller, according to the manager I spoke to. They knew exactly who I was talking about right away. And, best part of all, their basic description so far matches the driver's license of one Robert Michaels. I mean, we can't confirm that until we get the footage, but it's looking more and more like Abboud was behind the bombing at Ziva's."

"And the money to Wells?" Gibbs inquired.

"Also coming from the same account tied to Abboud. I don't know where he was getting his deposits from but I know that the was definitely depositing them into his account, to the tune of a few million dollars every three months or so." Tony whistled at the amount.

"So that's where Freedom's Light is getting their money," he said.

"Looks that way. All we need to find out is where Abboud's getting it."

"That's going to be the hard part," Gibbs said.


	13. Chapter 13

Hannah wanted to go home. Her clothes were still evidence, she'd been sleeping in the stakeout house since she left McGee's, and she realized at the end of the day that she had nowhere to go. She supposed a hotel would have to suffice.

"Why don't you just stay with me again?" Tim offered.

"I don't want to be a burden. I can always stay with Abby or something."

"Really, it's fine. It's nice to have visitors, usually I'm just going home by myself." Hannah smiled and accepted the agent's kind suggestion.

"Thanks, Tim. I admit—I didn't really want to have to sleep anywhere near that coffin again. I love Abby, but I do not understand her sometimes." They both smiled and walked to McGee's car.

"I had the misfortune of sleeping _in _it once," Tim shared. Hannah shivered at the thought.

"Lucky you."

When they arrived at McGee's, he grabbed the pair of pajamas Hannah had used the last time. "Freshly washed," he informed her.

"Thanks."

Hannah went to the bathroom to change. Although she could not have explained why, she was uneasy in the apartment, unlike last time. She would not turn her back on a door or window and kept her gun close at all times. It felt, as it had many times on different missions, like the walls had eyes.

"Something wrong?" Tim asked when he saw Hannah return to the living room with her gun.

"It's probably nothing," she said. "I'm probably just overreacting."

"To…?"

"I just feel like…you know how you get that feeling someone's watching? I feel like that." Tim furrowed his brow, concerned. Hannah was obviously an agent who'd been around the block a few times and had earned those kind of instincts. "But I'm sure it's nothing," she repeated quickly.

"We can check it out." The two did a thorough search of the apartment and found nothing and no one. "Feel better?" Tim asked. Hannah shook her head.

"I think I just need some sleep. It's been a long week." She smiled at Tim. "I'll take the couch this time."

"No, I really couldn't let you —"

"Tim, it's only fair. I'll take the couch, I'm fine. I'm so tired, I probably wouldn't even notice the difference anyway." Hannah did not want to let the front door out of her sight.

"Alright, if you're sure."

"I definitely am." Tim smiled and walked toward his bedroom. Hannah turned out the lights and sat on the couch, not planning on doing any kind of sleeping. Her eyes closed before she even realized it and nearly two hours passed peacefully. She awoke briefly, intending to do another check on the apartment. Until she saw him.

* * *

><p>He had a small knife out, one with a broad blade. Her gun lay on the small end table but he would notice if she went for it. She waited, hardly breathing, for the man's next move. He crept toward her soundlessly, thinking Hannah was asleep. As he moved in for the kill, she grabbed his wrist quick as a flash and was able to hit the knife out of his hand. This was where the helpful element of surprise ended and the man used his other hand to twist her arm behind her and throw her to the ground, knocking over a huge wall shelf in the process. Hannah scrambled for her gun but he was too quick: just as she reached it, she felt the white-hot pain of a stabbing blade in her abdomen and her lungs erupting with the scream that followed.<p>

Then he shot her, twice. Except that Hannah didn't feel the inky relief of death as she'd expected; instead, she saw her attacker sink to the ground. It took her a second after that to realize that the gun she'd heard was not her assailant's, but Tim's. He flipped a small light on, not wanting to blind himself or Hannah. She couldn't speak, her thoughts were only on the man on the ground and the fact that she seemed to be bleeding profusely. And the pain. Oh, the pain…

"Hannah!" he exclaimed while dialing on his cell phone. "Hang on, I'm getting help." Tim quickly told the 911 dispatch what had happened and his address, then stripped off his t-shirt to help stanch the blood. With his free hand, he swiped a code on his cell phone, then tossed it to the ground next to him so he could put more pressure on Hannah's wound.

"Hannah, you're going to be ok," he soothed. "You're going to be just fine. Paramedics are on their way. Just hold on for me."

"Tim," she whispered, hardly able to speak the word at all. She tried to point discreetly at the fact that the attacker had gotten up and had his knife again. He grabbed Tim into a headlock with the blade perched precariously close to McGee's neck.

"Scream and your friend gets it," he growled. Hannah did not scream. She looked the assailant dead in the eye while inching her fingers toward the gun Tim had left by her other side. As the man realized what was about to happen, he let go of McGee and leapt toward Hannah. She put three in his chest and he dropped to the ground like a stone. Blood pooled everywhere but she had done her job well: the man was dead. She fell back to the floor from her half sitting position, exhausted, in excruciating pain and losing blood quickly.

"You ok, Tim?" she asked in another whisper.

"Yeah," he said, dabbing a small cut on his neck. "You saved my life," he said as he reapplied his t-shirt to her stab wound. Hannah managed a tiny smile.

"You saved mine first. Consider yourself paid back." They grinned at one another while the sweet scream of sirens told them help had arrived.


	14. Chapter 14

Hannah Gray lay in a hospital bed. She was about to go crazy—she'd been in for two days now and had no word about the case whatsoever. The director had made a nice little visit but when she tried to inquire what was going on, he simply smiled and told her to get some rest. Ducky, when he stopped by, restricted his comments to remarks on the lovely weather or how Hannah would be just fine. She'd also been treated to a lecture on the history of famous stab wounds. She had to admit that had been kind of interesting but she desperately wanted information. Abby had tried to hug her to death, which resulted in Hannah pulling a few stitches.

She'd been very lucky. If the blade had gone a few centimeters over, it would have nicked a major artery and she probably would have bled out before the ambulance arrived. Seeing as how Hannah felt like a prisoner in the hospital, she didn't really see how it could have gotten worse. The morning of the third day, however, brought the change she wanted.

"You've gotta get me out of here, Boss," she pleaded as Gibbs entered the room.

"When you're ready, Gray," he said, smiling.

"Then at least tell me what's happening with the Wells case. I'm dying in here."

"The man who attacked you at McGee's…it was Abboud."

"What?" Hannah felt her hopes for the case go down the drain. Pretty hard to get information from a dead guy.

"Apparently, Bashir Moussalem was using him as a kind of security officer for Freedom's Light. Liked to intimidate their contacts with his Mossad training."

"It's a good incentive not to say anything," Hannah agreed. Gibbs nodded.

"Now that he's gone, it seems Sizer was a lot more willing to talk. Turns out he knew a lot more than he was letting on, like the fact that he actually ran most of the financials for the group. Abboud was his front man."

"Where was the money coming from?"

"Lebanese government, actually. The new prime minister is not so keen on Israel."

"How'd you trace the money?"

"McGee did it." Hannah smiled.

"Finally got around Switzerland," she murmured. "Good for you, Tim."

* * *

><p>Hannah was allowed to leave the hospital the next day. Tony and Tim had come to see her shortly after Gibbs left. DiNozzo brought a huge bouquet that immediately set Hannah sneezing.<p>

"What'd you do, Probie, pick an entire meadow?"

"I brought the finest DC has to offer," he defended.

"Loaded with irritants for my allergies."

"Isn't it the thought that counts?" Hannah smiled, then immediately sneezed.

"Yes, Probie, it is the thought that counts. Thank you," she said, giving him a soft hug. "Sorry we didn't get to have lunch. Next time, only let's leave out the stabbing." Tony laughed.

"It's a deal." Hannah glanced at Tim, then back at DiNozzo.

"Hey, Tony, since you were kind enough to bring this absolutely gorgeous floral arrangement that set off an absolutely terrible allergic reaction, why don't you go and see the nurses about bringing me some absolutely wonderful anti-histamine relief?" Tony glared at Hannah, then left the room. "Bye, Probie," she called after him.

"I have something for you, too, but I promise it won't make you sneeze. At least, I don't think it will," Tim said, holding out a little wrapped box.

"You really didn't have to get me anything, Tim."

"I wanted to. I think you'll like this." Hannah took the small gift and unwrapped it carefully. She opened a white box and removed a few pieces of tissue paper. At the bottom lay a tiny sculpted figurine of Switzerland. Hannah couldn't help but laugh, even though it was still fairly painful to do so. The laughing set off some more sneezing, which brought more pain. It was a few minutes before Hannah was sufficiently recovered to continue the conversation.

"How'd you finally do it?"

"I got this really weird call the day after the attack about how a Swiss warrant we had applied for had finally come through. You know anything about that?" Hannah smiled sheepishly.

"I may have called in a favor or two."

"Well, once I had that warrant, it turns out it's really easy to get through Switzerland. You just legally force the bank to tell you where it came from. After that, it was pretty simple to connect the two ends."

"I knew you could do it." Tim and Hannah looked at one another, unsure where to go from there.

"I know you're going back to New York and everything…" Tim started.

"I don't leave until the day after tomorrow. I'd love to get coffee or something, if you've got time," Hannah finished for him.

"I'd really like that."

"Nurse'll be by soon to bring you some Benadryl," DiNozzo interrupted. Hannah chuckled.

"Impeccable timing, as always, Probie."

"You know, I've been Senior Field Agent for a long time now and I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't—"

He didn't even get to finish his sentence before Hannah slapped him on the back of the head.


	15. Epilogue

"So, Mr. Keane, how would you like to make your payment with us today? Oh, I'm sorry. Ensign Keane. A credit card would be just fine. Please hold a moment while I bring up our payment form."

Julia Kidd pressed the small hold button on her phone and turned to her cubicle neighbor. "I can't believe this. Navy officer doesn't get paid enough to keep his cable turned on. So much for supporting the troops." She quickly brought up a new screen on her computer, then resumed the call.

"Ok, Ensign Keane, are you still there? Great. Whenever you're ready, you can just read the card number." Julia typed the number, then began to read it back for verification. In the middle, she stopped, her face turning a much paler shade. "Ensign, I'm sorry, I'm going to have to put you on hold again," she said, then pressed the button without waiting for confirmation. She hit the print screen key on her keyboard, then immediately went to her supervisor's office as soon as she picked up the sheet of paper.

"Julia, what is it now?" he asked gruffly. "If you have a question, ask Dave."

"No, it's just…" Julia held out the slip of paper to her boss. "I know this credit card is stolen." Her supervisor scanned the sheet, then gave it back to her.

"How do you know?"

"Because—it's my credit card number."

* * *

><p>AN: Will the perpetrator of this obvious identity theft be caught? What new challenges and responsibilities will the NCIS team face? What about that thing with Hannah and McGee that was completely left hanging? And, most importantly, will DiProbie _ever _grow up? (Probably not.) Stay tuned for the sequel!


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